The Summers Drive
by caballlah
Summary: With mutant birthrates in decline, something has to be done to ensure a new generation of mutants is born. Will Scott Summers mating the lovely ladies of the X-Men and passing on his potent DNA help? It can't hurt. [This is a group choose-your-own-adventure story, where votes tallied at my Patreon determine the next chapter.]
1. Introduction

Scott Summers walked through the Xavier Mansion lost in thought. The science was conclusive; everyone from Reed Richards to Bruce Banner agreed. The biggest threat facing mutants wasn't Sentinels or Inhumans, it was falling birth rates.

That was true across the board, of course, but while flatscan humans could survive going without middle children, such a decrease would be catastrophic for mutants. The X-gene, once so resilient, so inevitable, would be starved out of existence like a flame without air.

What could be done about it? All the arguments against child-rearing that applied to humans applied to mutants: climate change, economic downturn—a world that seemed to become less suitable for humanity the more they changed it to suit them. And then there were the mutant arguments. Countless doomed futures lying in wait. Government pogroms. Uncaring superheroes and hateful supervillains. It wasn't a world Scott would choose to bring a child into. But that was the irony. To get the better world they hoped for, they would have to have faith the world would get better… instead of acknowledging that it wasn't.

Such were the dark thoughts he was grappling with—whether having children was an act of survival or a curse handed down—that he didn't notice his quarters were occupied as he came into them. While usually he would've registered another's presence immediately, possibly even sensed it with well-honed instincts before his hand touched the doorknob, now it was not until the door was firmly shut behind him that he realized Emma was inside.

She was in the bedroom, a little off from the foyer immediately through his front door, and he felt her in his thoughts, the psychic equivalent of a tap on the shoulder. _Time for bed, _she cast to him, and Scott felt his groin answering with growing hardness. He walked into the bedroom and saw that she was dressed down, for her, wearing a white jacket with an ermine fur collar and nothing underneath, a pair of those ironically virginal white panties, and then nothing for her miles of long legs except her high heels at the end. She sat in an armchair in the corner.

Tessa was on the bed, wearing not her usual uniform, but a black corset, black panties, stockings and hose. The neutral expression on her computerized face made her trim, sleek body paradoxically more arousing, the thought that she was dressed like that, offered up like that, and yet blithe, challenging anyone who viewed her to replace her stony expression with one more lustful—Scott knew it should've killed his arousal to find a third party in his bed, but it only grew, seeing Tessa kneeling there, awaiting his orders. Or perhaps Emma's.

"Emma?" he asked. "What's going on? Did Tessa spill something on her own bed?"

He'd never been much of a joker and Emma overlooked his attempt now.

"I'm being _practical," _Emma trilled, making it sound like a sexual position. The obvious irony: however practical Emma was, it was only to please herself. "You're looked upon quite highly in the community, you know. Xavier's a hypocrite. Magneto's a maniac. Wolverine's a killer. You're the only real hero we have."

"So?" Scott asked, biting back a reflexive need to argue. He was no hero. He had a job.

"If you start making babies, others will catch on. And you would make a very good babymaker—so to speak. Isn't that right, Sage?"

Tessa spoke her, her voice slightly rough with electronic undertones. "The villain Mr. Sinister is right to be so obsessed with your genes, Scott Summers. Your variant of the X-gene is significantly more advanced than the usual chromosome. It has the potential to create vastly powerful mutants. In laboratory tests, it counteracts several debilitating birth defects. With even slight gene therapy, it could make any of your descendants immune to the Legacy Virus, the Terrigen Mist, and various other genetic threats to mutantkind. Theoretically, the Summers X-gene could've been bolstered by contact with the Eternals or experimentation by the Celestials…"

"Yes, Sage, that's enough," Emma interrupted. "You get the point, Scott. Not only would you knocking a woman up inspire other mutants to start families, but your children would be all quite the Second Coming. As frustrating as Rachel and Cable can be at times, I'd rather have more X-Men like them than, oh, say Beak."

"This is your way of telling me you want to have kids?" Scott asked.

"Me? Oh, God no." Emma ran a hand over her bare belly. "Imagine ruining this figure with a pregnancy. I went to an Ivy League school; I think not. But Sage here… we became quite good friends in the Hellfire Club. Yes, she was only there to spy for Xavier, but while she may have been an X-Man in her mind, her body was another matter."

"You want me to fuck her?" Scott asked, hardly able to believe it.

"For starters," Emma said. "I know a great deal many women who could do with breeding—top-quality women, you understand. Impeccable references, so to speak. Not bad-looking, either. If we're to do this, after all, we can't have you go around thrusting into just anyone. You're not Gambit, after all."

"Thanks," Scott said laconically.

"You're welcome," Emma said sincerely. "I do this only thinking of you, of course. But I will help out where I can. That's the way you like to do it, isn't it? As a team? Sage, enough posing. Present yourself."

Turning around, Sage dropped onto all fours, showing Scott her ass. The panties were thin enough not to conceal a single pubic hair through their nylon mesh. Not that there were many of those on Tessa's shorn sex. Emma had clearly prepared Tessa for him as eloquently as she would an arrangement of flowers, a three-course meal, or an exhibition at an art gallery. He had no doubt that Tessa would prove as scintillating a sexual partner as Emma herself.

But despite all he and Emma had been through, and the steadiness with which he regarded the constant push and pull of their relationship, he wondered how smart it was to give into her here. Her reasoning was entirely sound, Emma once more voicing the thoughts he was still turning over unspoken in his head, but was it wise to let her call the shots? He thought he caught a sparkle in her eyes, an ironic gleam, as if she were daring him to dispute her decision-making… or perhaps asking him to.

He knew how powerful a Summers child could be, but both times, that child had essentially come from him and Jean. It was that kind of inevitability that fostered such inadequacy in Emma, made her lash out at times, feeling that she was inherently unlovable and that he was destined for Jean. Perhaps, despite her chilly words, having a child with her would show her how much he cared for her… and Emma only wanted him to insist on her being his mate.

Scott could've laughed. He'd been called upon to make a seemingly infinite number of tactical decisions in his time: why should having a child prove any different?

* * *

**A. Show her who's in charge. Mate the White Queen.**

**B. Emma Was Right. Breed Tessa.**

**Vote on Mobofair**


	2. Mate The White Queen

"Oh, _Emma," _Scott chuckled, his voice rich with irony. "Surely you don't think little Tessa here can compare with _you. _The _White Queen."_

Emma froze, brows knitted in confusion. "Whatever do you mean, my love?"

"I mean why would I want Tessa when I can have you? Fuck you? Come inside you? Make you pregnant?"

Emma shook her head, laughing nervously, for once flustered. "But Scott… I told you… my figure…"

"It'll make those tits of yours even bigger," Scott said, reaching out to haul her to her feet. "I thought you'd go in for that."

"But I _told you _to fuck _her," _Emma insisted, looking a little desperately at Tessa.

"I'm leader of the X-Men, 'my love'. You don't tell me what to do."

Just like that, Scott was pulling Emma through their suite, her tiny efforts to resist utterly futile. Helpless, she was dragged into the bathroom with him. He threw open the medicine cabinet. Its mirrored door swung out to show Tessa, still kneeling on the bed.

"Your birth control," Scott said. "Throw it out. You won't need it anymore."

Ironically for the ice queen, Emma was all fired up on the outside, but warm as a summer day on the inside. Scott could see it in her eyes—a delighted gleam that he could discern no matter how hard she tried to keep up her act of smug superiority. As he'd surmised and, indeed, hoped, Emma wanted him to choose her, wanted him to make her his mate in the most certain terms imaginable, and most of all, she wanted him to do it this way, _her way, _not with candles and flowers, but rough, hard, fast.

Diamonds couldn't be broken, it was said. Scott would put that to the test.

"Make me," Emma challenged.

Scott grabbed her by the throat, all while Tessa watched, her computerized eyes recording every detail. Scott wondered if that exhibitionism—a combination of voyeurism and sex tape—was the real point of Emma inviting Tessa here. He didn't care much either way. As long as he was onboard with Emma's plan, he'd have to get comfortable with other women in the bedroom sooner or later.

He squeezed Emma hard, not enough to truly hurt her, but letting her know in no uncertain terms that he wasn't kidding around. This game was being played to win. "If you're too scared to be fucked yourself, then safe word already."

Despite the game, despite the pain, Emma grinned. This was more than what she wanted—it was what she needed. To open herself up and be truly vulnerable, she needed the freedom only a mask offered. It was no wonder she had become a superhero. It was the only way her fetish could get any kinkier.

"If you want to play rough, I can play rough." And that was the last acknowledgment she gave that this was anything but him taking what he wanted from her.

_I love you, _she teeped into his head.

Scott smiled back at you. _Love you too, _he replied in kind. Then dug his thumb into her jugular vein. _My little whore._

She slapped him. Hard. His cheek burning, Scott shoved her backward. She twisted about, her high heels slipping between the bath mat and the tile floor. She caught herself on the shower curtain and the bath faucet, accidentally turning on the tap, water thundering down into the tub.

"You're going to get it now," Scott said, his visor burning like a demon.

"Fuck you!" Emma spat, trying to get up. Scott put his boot on her back, pushing her down so that her throat was against the rim of the tub. She gurgled as she was choked. Keeping the pressure on, Scott undid his belt and worked his fly down.

"Tessa's watching, Emma. She sees everything. She's going to see how I fuck cockteasing little bitches like you."

Then he was kneeling behind her, holding her head down so that her face was lowered into the tub. She could see her own reflection in the water, her face flushed and straining. Even more humiliatingly, she could hear Scott hum in approval as he inspected her ass, revealed by how she was bent over the bathtub. Her white panties gloved the curvaceous ass she was usually so happy to tempt him with, its elastic hems slicing across the soft flesh of her backside. Scott ripped them away, leaving her bare ass and wet pussy on display. Emma even felt Scott shift his body to let Tessa get a good look.

"I'm going to fuck you like this every night," Scott whispered, his voice hot and urgent in Emma's ear. "Until you have the good sense to be knocked up."

Emma grunted, not sure whether she felt more humiliation or anger as Scott's monstrous erection slammed into her pussy. She could see reflected back at her how her face contorted as she took his cock. Usually he was gentle. Usually he gave her time to get used to how much of it there was. Now he was letting her know just how big it is, and she would never take its size for granted again.

Scott thrust into Emma's slick passage, even her body taking him with mixed emotions. Tightening to keep him out, but sucking at him when he was inside. He thrust into her with savage lunges, burying his cock to the balls with each drive. From the first stroke, he let Emma know she was being fucked.

Emma bit her tongue to keep from screaming—Scott wasn't hurting her, exactly, but the intensity was so much more than she was used to. Usually, their lovemaking was all about her pleasure, Scott doing everything he could to satisfy her. This… this wasn't even him gratifying himself. He was showing her that he owned her, that his violent strokes had free rein of her pussy, his balls slapping against her creamy thighs painfully, as if punishing her for daring to suggest otherwise.

Emma saw her face in the water and didn't even recognize the reflection. The pain was one thing, but this was… this was irrevocable. She was his. This baby wasn't just the future of mutantkind, it was _their _future. A flag planted in occupied territory, a Summers child in her belly to let everyone know that she was his and he would never let her go.

Such a thing should've been consummated with romance and pet names, all the greeting card shit that both of them had no time for, but Emma so much preferred it like this. Fire and ice. The fire of Scott's raging desire, and the ice of the drive with which he practiced it. She had no doubt that, game or no, Scott would be as good as his word. She could look forward to these domineering fucks until the day her womb gave in where the rest of her already had, accepting his mastery over her. She felt like the White Queen again—sitting on the right hand of a worthy White King at last.

Emma screamed—the sheer intensity of the fuck shooting up from her cunt, through the womb Scott sought to conquer, up into her throat until it was blasting out of her mouth. And as she vented the painful feeling, a deliciously warm pleasure grew inside her too. It was like she was being penetrated by two cocks. One staggering her senses with immense, painful thunder, the other matching the first's strokes with growing ecstasy.

"Fuck me," she breathed, her voice stirring the water under her. "Please fuck me!"

"You're beginning to figure out what that cunt of yours is for, huh?" Scott asked, deliberately goading her, ramming his member all the way into her sex until it seemed impossible for her pleasure to dwarf the ramrod pain—yet somehow it did. "It's not for you… _nhh… _not for your damn sex toys… _hhg… _your dainty fingers… it's for this fucking prick!"

"Yes!" Emma heard herself say, with a voice quite unlike herself. "Yes, fuck my cunt!"

Scott let out a low laugh as he stopped thrusting into her, leaving a worn-out feeling in her sex of both pain and pleasure. And yet, no matter how much it hurt, she wanted him to keep going. She wiggled her hips, trying to tempt him back inside her.

"It's not going to be that easy, Frost."

"What do you mean?" Emma asked, as girlishly as one of her students.

Scott pulled out of her, moving his cockhead to her tight little anus. Emma's eyes widened as she felt his engorged helmet pushing into an opening that seemed far too small to accommodate his prick—and he had amply shown her just how very big it was.

"As long as you're on the pill, you can't get pregnant," Scott explained pedantically, as if to a child—Emma's ears burned from his sheer tone, as if that were more of an offense than him being about to sodomize her. "If you can't get pregnant, there's no real need for me to fuck your cunt, is there? Not when your ass is so fucking _tight."_

He pushed into her, letting Emma know for certain just how tight she was. She panicked, tensing her muscles, trying to keep him out, but Scott wouldn't be denied. Slick with the lubrication from her cunt, Scott worked his cockhead into her asshole.

"It hurts!" Emma cried out. "Take it out!"

Scott slowly forced more of himself up her ass. "I don't think so, baby. I think I'm gonna be in this tight little hole for a nice long while."

"UHHH!" Emma howled as he shoved his cock in deeper, always deeper. "Christ, _please! _You're going to split me in half!"

Scott fucked into her, harder and harder, giving her nice long thrusts so she could really feel herself being impaled. Emma's eyes rolled back in her head. She was helpless, utterly fucked, dominated to the point that all she could think about with the pain.

Scott forced her head into the bathwater, and with her underwater, he thrust his cock all the way into her ass.

Emma's screams bubbled in the water. Then he pulled on her hair, setting her scalp on fire as he lifted her out of the way and let her breathe. No sooner had Emma gulped in air then Scott forced her back down, fucking her asshole once more, his rippling abs pounding against her plump ass. Scott felt his balls swelling with the hot load of cum meant to fill Emma's bowels, and he fucked her harder, forcing her head in and out of the water to match his thrusts, leaving her barely able to breathe.

Finally, Scott let her stay upright, just as he thrust the entirety of his cock into her anus. "And just think," Scott hissed in her ear. "You could have this in your pussy right now." The first hot bullet of his seed splattered into her bowels. "You could be coming like a good girl instead of getting fucked in the ass like a whore."

Emma had never known this pain. His cock was like a weapon as it forced its way into her rectum, stretching and forever altering her inner muscles. She felt faint, her vision blurry, sounds strangely deserted. And then she felt something new where Scott's cock was impaling her. Something wonderful.

"Oh Jesus," she moaned, hardly believing that this much pain could become something so sweet. She'd forgotten the claim Scott had staked on her body. How determined he was to prove he owned her, both her pain and her pleasure.

And as Scott's cum poured into her bowels, the pain gripping Emma slowly released her, letting itself be replaced by a fiery pleasure that was almost equally unbearable. But she loved it—loved being the focus of all Scott's attention, the sex object he had to claim. He might love Jean, but could he ever fuck _her_ like _this?_

"Scott!" she grunted. "Scott!"

He ignored her lovelorn cries. "Take it, you fucking slut! Take it all!"

Emma closed her eyes as his seed poured into her like hot wax. It hurt, but it brought delicious warmth that spread all throughout her body, and she keened with agonized glee as it burned her flesh into an inferno. Her eyes flew open as she came.

Scott looked into the water while Emma orgasmed. From Emma's reflection, the look in her eyes, he could see she wasn't regretting this. No, she was more turned on than ever—imagining him cumming this much in her pussy. Imagining him getting her pregnant.

Finally, Scott pulled out of her. She slumped down on the bathtub, gasping for air. Kneeling down, his cum was pouring out from between her splayed buttocks, covering the feet she'd settled her ass on. Emma giggled and wiggled her toes in the proof of how thoroughly Scott had used her.

Scott picked her up, now gently helping her into the bathtub and turning off the faucet. Emma cooed as the warm water worked its healing magic on her battered body.

"How'd you like the game?"

Emma laughed lightly. The warm water was getting to her cunt too—filling it with aching want. "Not bad," she said. "But next time you should be a little rough."

Scott chuckled himself and started undressing. "Tessa? Any comments?"

Tessa responded in her chirping electric voice. "I noted that Emma Frost orgasmed several times. Her orgasms arrived more frequently in proximity to Scott Summers making demeaning comments on her sexual morality. From this, I can conclude that Emma Frost is a filthy slut. The evidence would also suggests she enjoys being Scott Summers' bitch, although it is possible that Emma Frost would experience similar sexual pleasure with any excessively sized phallus."

Scott screwed up his face and gave a considering nod. "You don't say… thanks, Tessa. You can go."

Tessa got up to leave, seemingly paying no mind to the fact that she was still wearing scanty lingerie.

"One more thing," Emma called. "Can you transfer the playback file of our little tryst to a standardized media format? I would like to have it on my phone." She looked up at Scott, running her hands over her body as the steamy waters continued their work on her tired flesh. "We may know I'm his bitch, but Scott may need video proof as a reminder."

"I just need you to turn around," Scott retorted. "With the tight pants you wear, I'll remember exactly what your ass looks like. Then I just have to think of how it looked wrapped around my cock."

Emma purred. "Get in the tub, Scott. I need to be washed. I feel dirty."

Scott shed the last of his clothes, but didn't immediately obey—instead reaching into the medicine cabinet to pick up Emma's pill wheel. "And this?"

"Pitch it," Emma said readily. "I won't need it anytime soon. One of the advantages of being pregnant is you can go into me bareback as much as you want."

Scott dropped the birth control into the bathroom's waste basket before climbing into the bath with Emma. She let him pull her close and kiss her tenderly on the forehead, though it was hard to tell who needed the loving gesture more, her or him.

"I suppose you've sorted me out now," Emma commented, resting her head against Scott's chest as he laid under her. "But if I'm going down, I'm taking several of my sister mutants with me. I insist on seeing you put to stud while I'm still svelte enough to enjoy the process."

"Who'd you have in mind?" Scott asked.

"Oh, look at Summers, all considerate now that he's ruined my ass," Emma quipped. "I _was _going to feed a selection of my finest students to you, but since you're the one in charge, I suppose you'll be fulfilling some of those fun fantasies we've played with in your head. Shame. Some of my girls were so well-bred…"

"And you'd like them to be even more so," Scott said. "Maybe later."

"Yes. For a leader, you have a naughty tendency to play favorites. Still, as far as entrees on the menu, Psylocke is a delicacy. She's probably been dreaming of you breeding her for years—a nice easy kill as we get you back on the dating scene, so to speak."

"Haven't we been dating?" Scott asked.

"Darling, please. I've had my legs wrapped around you like a sprung bear-trap. That's not dating. That's fucking with breaks to resolve annoying side issues."

Scott didn't dispute Emma's assessment. "You know, there is the elephant in the room…"

"Yes. Your dearly departed Jean Grey, who only gets more dear and less departed with time."

"Would you be comfortable with that?" Scott asked reassuringly. "I don't want to start WW3 between the two of you."

Emma sighed. "If she can make peace with it, I can. Your spawn would be formidable. And it might be fun to see Jean on the receiving end of this little dark side I've brought out of you. No false modesty, Scott: I'm a queen, but the Phoenix is a god. And I could stand to see you cut us both down to size."

"I think you may have something of an ulterior motive here," Scott commented. "One that isn't particularly conductive to mating season."

"You'll get your turn with her," Emma protested. "I'm just saying it may take both of us to tame her. I never did quite manage it with Jean back at the Hellfire Club. How interesting a rematch would be—" She patted Scott's chest. "Especially with a real man in my corner, and not some… Ren Faire enthusiast."

Scott chuckled. "Ouch."

"So what will it be, Scott?" Emma asked, looking up at him as expectantly as a child begging for a puppy. "Which girl do you want me to help you fuck?"

* * *

**A. Ninjas do it with stealth. Breed Psylocke.**

**B. First girl wins. Breed Jean.**

**Vote on Mobofair**


	3. Breed Psylocke

Betsy Braddock was a sight to behold. Even out of her justly famous costume, in a unadorned gi, she was a vision. Her delicate Asian features had a boldness and vibrancy belying their gentleness, with her blue eyes being especially fierce, somehow reflecting the Occidental psyche that animated them. And she had the height of a supermodel, her body tall and elegant, with robust breasts that swayed and jiggled around the plunging neckline of her gi. Despite its formless shape and simple linen, she filled out the martial arts uniform voluptuously, so unlike the stereotypically lean Asiatic body type that Scott would well understand those who accused her of being silicone-enhanced. It wasn't so much that she defied race as she transcended it, somehow embodying the charms of both her ethnicities in one gorgeous package.

She was both well aware of Scott's appreciation and unafraid to voice it. "Nice of you to come spar with me, Scott. It's always hard to find a partner who doesn't mind getting a proper beating."

"Maybe they don't want to mar that pretty face." Scott smiled at her coyly. "Of course, I'm used to doing what needs to be done."

Betsy's eyes trailed over him, seeing his muscles brusquely outlined in his own gi, and the sizable member that was apparent even in loose pants. Or maybe she was just noting that he was only a brown belt, while she was a sandan black belt.

Of course, a sandan would well know that size could count as much as skill in a fight, and Scott outdid Betsy on both reach and muscle. It would make for an interesting contest—in many respects.

"You're welcome to do what you like to my face," Betsy retorted. "So long as Emma doesn't mind." She reached behind herself to gather her hair in a ponytail, keeping it out of the way during the match. "In fact, I thought you were avoiding me, considering all our past history. Now that you're a taken man again. 'Lead us not into temptation'?"

"That's not really Emma's philosophy," Scott replied. He tightened the strap on his visor to a painful degree. He wouldn't risk it getting knocked aside while he fought her.

"And what's yours?" Betsy asked.

Scott only smiled and made a respectful bow. Betsy did the same. However, when she straightened, she found that Scott was not waiting patiently for her to defend herself. He was coming to her full speed, in lengthy strides that ate up the exercise mat between them. Betsy tried to ready herself, but with lightning quickness, Scott was reaching for her. Only he didn't make an attack. He grasped the folds of her gi and wrenched it open, exposing her bare breasts to his eyes.

Betsy was so shocked that she instinctively reacted with a series of incensed blows, ill-considered in their strategy. Scott batted them aside coolly. Betsy hadn't stopped to adjust her gi and so it stayed open, revealing her breasts' ripe jiggle as she fought. And Scott took them in—she could feel his eyes on them—without it affecting his calm control one bit. He evaded, turned aside, and blocked her flurry of blows, until finally they were locked forearm to forearm, struggling bodily against each other. Betsy had lucked into the leverage, but Scott still had the power.

"That was awfully forward of you," Betsy said, her face burning, and not just with embarrassment. She had dreamed of him making a bold move like that, but it'd been a dream for so long that she had little idea of what to do when faced with him actually doing it.

"I thought you liked forward. You certainly seemed to when you had a new bikini or bath towel to show off every day," Scott said unapologetically, tensing his muscles as he pushed her back a step. Betsy realized that he was holding back to have this face to face with her, and her muddled emotions settled on being pissed off.

With a harsh war cry, she threw him back and drove into him with sharp jabs, staggering him and drawing a pained grunt before he marshalled a block. And still she didn't let up, knocking him back until she had him against the wall, her forearm across his throat.

"It depends on whether I'm giving or receiving," she told him.

"So which is it?" Scott asked her. "Do you want to give or receive?"

Betsy lifted her leg and rubbed her thigh against his crotch, unsurprisingly finding him half-hard. It was enough to make her bite her lip, even as she asked suspiciously "What's gotten into you?"

"You tell me. Read my mind."

Betsy regarded him scrupulously, wary of some trick. She did accept his invitation, but she did it with her psionic defenses fully raised. And still, slipping into Scott's head was as easy as submerging herself into a warm bath. For a man as closed off as Scott, his experience with telepaths let her enter smoothly and gently, a nice easy ride. She immediately followed his chain of thought to what he wanted to show her.

The night before. Emma Frost and her amazing beauty, her seductive nature, and the quasi-domineering nature that made bringing her to heel so very satisfying. Betsy gasped as she relived how Scott had broken Emma and how Emma had wanted to be broken.

Unfortunately for her, investing so much of herself in mental defenses had literally taken her mind off the fight. While Betsy was shocked silent by the thought of Scott and Emma's sex life, Scott threw her off him, only to wrap her in his arms. He kissed her hard and hungrily.

Betsy's fingers dug into Scott's back as she realized that Scott's keen analytical mind hadn't mistook Emma's reactions. In his memory, he had seen her climax repeatedly, virtually overdose on the pleasure he gave her, and there was no exaggeration there. Betsy felt the same pleasure as Scott kissed her, touched her.

After their tongues had learned enough of each other, Scott lifted his hand to one of Betsy's full breasts. He closed his fingers around its wonderful curvature, fingertips describing how it differed from Emma's. While Emma's breasts were pert and firm, Betsy's were soft and pliant, changing shape in his hand as he squeezed it, flowing into his grip and spreading under his fingers.

"You shagged her," Betsy moaned, lost in Scott's memories of _taking _Emma, a woman Betsy never would've thought would be brought to heel so easily. Scott's lips caressed her neck, offering pointed reminders that she only knew Emma's pleasure secondhand, that she could experience Scott's lovemaking for herself if only she gave in. "You… you bred her. Bloody hell… you're going to fuck her every night until she's finally… pregnant. She came again and again. Like a whore. _Because _you treated her like a whore."

Scott's arms cinched around her waist, his hands slipping under her gi. One clutched the sweetly round hills of her ass, squeezing, massaging, circling, even patting as if in ownership, with Betsy sighing heavily as the pleasures of his touch sank into her unawakened flesh, revealing it as tender and sensitive under his fingers.

The other hand went even lower, caressing the back of her thighs, sending shudders down all of Betsy's long legs. She wanted to jump up and wrap her legs around Scott's waist, force her breasts to his mouth, experience all the satisfaction she had seen Emma enjoy.

"Don't think you can treat me like that, mate…" Betsy muttered, barely conscious with the cacophony of pleasure exploding in her senses. She could smell Scott's musk—her hands flowed over his face, feeling his chiseled features, the grainy shadow of his stubble. "Like your little… bitch…"

He smelled her hair and she was in his head, she could feel him enjoying its mango scent, feel him enjoying _her, _relishing her as no one had in what felt like forever. This, this was what'd she'd wanted when she'd first pursued him. All the hidden passions, all the kinky desires, all the dedication and duty and studiousness, but applied to her. She wanted to be his mission.

She gasped like some lovesick little girl as he kissed her neck again. "Scott, I love… love this… wanted this, for so long… thought I'd never get it." She breathed in his scent as she kissed him back, pressing her body against his, her flesh against his itchy gi. She wanted it out of the way, wanted to be skin to skin with him. Let him be shared with Emma, let him be doing this to mate with her like some wild animal in heat—she was an X-Man, her entire life was bloody well complicated, why should this be any different? All she knew was that she was happy. She'd known how compatible they would be for so long, and now finally it was like the universe had been convinced too.

"Then you're okay with it?" Scott asked her, drawing her slightly out of the lust that was tingling through her body and tightening her cunt. "Breeding? And not being the only one?"

Betsy smiled. "We'll see if you still want Emma after you've had me. And as for breeding…" She looked down again, seeing that he was either fully hard or close to it, his erection distending the crotch of his gi like a tent being put up. Emma, that poor, poor, _lucky _girl. No wonder she'd put aside her superiority complex for that. "Try it."

She doubted it would work—even Scott's potency couldn't compare to her birth control regiment. But if she liked the effort, she'd do the same as Emma and drop her pills. And then, well—try, try again.

Scott moved to kiss her again, but Betsy stopped him, laying her finger over his lips. "One thing, love. If you're not just going to shag me—if you're going to bloody _breed _me—I think I'd best make sure you really have what it takes to be a daddy."

"Do averted futures count? I could provide a few references that way."

"Not that kind of daddy," Betsy said.

In a flash, she'd put Scott through a hip toss, slamming him down on the mat and following through by straddling his head. With one hand she grasped his hair, the other fist she raised for a killing blow. And all the while, Scott's nostrils were awash with the scent of her aroused cunt, situated just a few inches away from his face.

"How about it, Scott?" Betsy asked as she knelt over him. "Do you have the good sense to surrender now? Or the balls to keep fighting me? Because you're not going to get this bint without one or the other."

**A. Let her win.**

**B. Take her down.**


	4. Take Her Down

Scott only smiled up at Betsy. "You hit hard, Betts. But I think we can both agree that breaking my visor would be a bad move."

Scott could see her brow furrow in concentration as she realized the tactical misstep she'd made, but he didn't give her time to think her way out of the checkmate she'd backed herself into. His left hand came up in a dazzling slap, landing squarely on Betsy's ass. She was shocked, scandalized, the English Rose totally unused to being treated so vulgarly, and she instinctively turned to her left to see who had dared lay a finger on her.

Scott's right hand jammed against Betsy's hip and shoved her off of him, rolling over her so that he was on top, belly to back. He wrenched her gi jacket back and down, so that her arms were pinned to her sides by it, then he twisted the material of the jacket to tighten its grip on Betsy. He was now straddling the small of her back, her jutting ass behind him, her strong back laid out before his groin, mostly bared, teasing him with a succulent look at the sides of her breasts. Even having seen the whole picture moments ago, it was still a huge temptation.

With one hand holding her makeshift straitjacket in place, Scott reached down with the other and traced his finger over the curve of Betsy's breast, hearing her suck in air as she registered the touch. The flesh was as pert and perfect as it looked, and warm and sensitive as well. In the heat of battle, with her adrenaline raging, Betsy wasn't used to being touched so intimately.

She let out a very dry British laugh. "You're good, Scott. You're very good. In a straight fight, I'd bugger you, but you don't let me have a straight fight, do you?"

"Not much incentive for it," Scott pointed out, equally dry.

Reaching behind himself, he grabbed Betsy's loose pants by the waistband and lowered them down her sweet ass. He had a good idea of just how sweet it was from how the well-rounded cheeks bloomed out around her thong, but he wouldn't be in this position—literally topping Psylocke—if he were all that vulnerable to temptation.

Instead, he watched Betsy's face, her cheek pressed down to the mat, straining, flushed, as if she were trying to get out of a submission hold. Only Scott couldn't feel her trying to escape. And as her waistband cleared the pert curvature of her swelling buttocks, he saw her close her eyes in rapture. A throb went through Scott's erection. That was the real prize. Seeing the stoic, closed-off warrior realize she was being stripped naked, that there was nothing she could do about it—and that she liked it.

Then Betsy sucked in breath, as if remembering where she was. Maybe reading his mind had given it away. "Of course, you can't hold me down forever. The moment I get up, what's to stop me from ending you?"

"Maybe you'll think of something better to do," Scott intoned, running his forefinger between Betsy's asscheeks, touching down just shy of her cunt and swiping upward until his fingertip buzzed over her anus. Betsy gasped, either thinking he was going to sodomize her—or disappointed that he hadn't.

"You're a telepath, Betsy. You must know what men think of you when you walk around, dressed the way you do. They see your big tits, your fat ass, and they get ideas. Do you enjoy knowing they can't act on any of those dirty, nasty thoughts? Or are you hoping one of them will?"

Betsy took a deep breath, sensing Scott's intent just before he struck—his hand chopping down on her bare ass with a sharp, swift slap. "Ooh!" she shrieked, feeling the blow reverberate through the weighty heft of her buttocks, making them jiggle with the same enticing flow as when she walked around in her high-heeled boots with her thong cutting between her asscheeks. Scott wondered if it felt as good for her to feel her ass shake around as it was to watch it.

He slapped her on the other cheek, the pain flowing into the virgin flesh and thrumming as well in the lightly reddened skin of her other buttock. Betsy opened her lips, her teeth gnashing, absorbing the pain and more, the sensation of being on display and used and controlled. She had to be thinking about how one of only two things that kept her from battering down even his formidable psi-defenses were the rules of this twisted game they were playing. And Betsy was honorable, but no fool.

The other thing, though, was the possibility that she enjoyed this. Enjoyed every rippling, painful smack that went through her ass as Scott held her down and spanked her.

He brought his hand down again, whistling through the air, but this time stopped his palm right before it impacted Betsy's trembling buttocks. And he heard her groan.

"You're a smart girl, Betsy. You know you've been bad." His hand hovered closer to her. Closer. Barely shy of touching her. He knew she could feel it all the same. In a lot of ways, the closeness of his hand was more potent than his actual touch. "Trying to seduce me. Throwing yourself at me." He lowered his voice and his hand, bringing it down to her exposed cunt, but not touching, never touching. Just letting her know that he could, while she listened to his soft, cool voice. "Maybe even thinking about me. While you touch yourself. One big loop. You show off your tits—your ass—I think about them, think about you, think about _fucking." _His fingers inched closer. Bare millimeters separated the tips of his callused fingers from the moisture of her pussy. He could feel her trembling. He could feel her warmth. "You read my thoughts. What I want to do to you. How I'd fuck you. And you think about it while you fuck yourself." He curled his fingers into a fist. All but his pinky. That he laid against her cunt.

Betsy moaned.

"Does that sound naughty to you, Betsy?" Scott asked. "Something that deserves to be punished?"

Betsy was on the verge of orgasm. Her pussy dripping wet. Sucking at even the tiniest part of his finger. Getting off on just feeling the edge of his fingernail on her tender cunt. She drooled. "Bastard… can't just fuck me… have to… have to be the big man…"

Scott dipped his pinky inside her. She clenched around it. And she tried to hold back her moan, but she couldn't. She was too close, too hot—too naughty.

"You know what I like about you, Betsy? You're a dirty English slut in an innocent Asian body. So while you may love cock, your tight little cunt doesn't know what to do with it."

Her cunt spasmed around her finger. If she wasn't coming outright, she was so close to it that there was no real difference. She was gagging for it. Needing it. Needing it too much to even fight. Tears were in her eyes, sweat dotting her forehead. He whispered to her: "Even Emma didn't drool before I put it in her."

"Big man," Betsy said angrily, though Scott imagined there wasn't a man in the world who couldn't see the lust she was trying to hide. As he dragged his pinky out of her, leaving her stranded on the verge of orgasm, she keened and whimpered like she was being tortured—all from being denied the touch of one little finger.

"Do you feel like a big man!?" Betsy demanded as soon as she recovered. Scott smiled evenly; she didn't mean it. She was just frustrated with herself for getting so worked up, so easily. After years of being in control, both of herself and of any man who came near her, now she was at the bottom of the food chain. And, even more frustratingly, enjoying it. "Fine. _Fine. _You can get me wet. Lots of men have!"

Scott let out a wry chuckle. "Lots of men?"

Betsy colored and, for the first time, struggled against the jacket holding her arms to her sides. She nearly slipped free; Scott had to grab it with both hands. Then she was well and truly trapped. And she panted, aroused by that.

"Just because you can turn me on," Betsy insisted shrilly, "doesn't mean you can satisfy me. So go on, Scott. Fuck me. Make me come. _Have a go if you think you're hard enough!"_

Scott was ready for her challenge. He ripped the jacket down her arms to her wrists, where he tied it into a firm knot, sparing a wan grin as he did so. They always called him a boy scout…

With Betsy securely bound, he rolled her over onto her back. She was naked from the waist up, the top of her gi now wrapped around her wrists, while her pants were down around her thighs, in the back at least. In front, they still partially covered her crotch, allowing him to see only a shock of purple hair at her pubis. Scott didn't worry about that now. He straddled her chest, holding her down with his weight, and ripped open his pants at the seam.

"This hard enough?" he asked her.

Betsy stared with wide-eyed shock at the massive erection that whipped out of Scott's town pants. It was twice the size of any other cock she had seen, long and thick, with fat blue veins running up and down its stolid length. His purple cockhead looked as wide around as a billiard ball.

Scott did not look smug as he knelt over Betsy, skinning back his foreskin, showing her all of his knob, its tip glossy with precum. Betsy was unable to speak, barely able to think, as if she were hypnotized by the mammoth prick Scott had challenged her with. But Scott's mouth did turn upwards at the ends, in calm, collected acceptance of his victory. It was the tight-lipped smile he would wear at the end of a battle—the reassurance that his plan had been carried out successfully.

However she might have resented how Scott had chipped away at her defenses and stripped away her supremacy, Betsy was utterly unable to resist his trump card. Scott could almost hear his own words echoing in Betsy's head. _You're a dirty English slut in an innocent Asian body. So while you may love cock, your tight little cunt doesn't know what to do with it._

But she did. She knew exactly what to do with it. And she was eager to show him her skill.

He thrust into her before she could gather herself, make any plans, prepare her body. She was wet enough to take him and had been for a long time. Her mouth gaped—her entire being suddenly centered around the vast penetration that had taken place, her new impalement, the subdued pain grating against almost unbearable pleasure. Betsy threw her head back, thudding it with muted bass against the exercise mat. She bit her lip and whined, not so much with what she was feeling, but with the swirl of emotions and sensations that were impossible to separate. Scott could feel her psi-shields slipping, letting out her innermost desires, her most private thoughts.

Scott being Scott, he had arranged schedules and curriculums so that during this part of the day, not only were they unlikely to be disturbed, but most every telepath was attending a special lecture across campus. Only Scott was there, with his keenly sensitive yet mundane mind, to divine the meaning of the psychic chaff spewing from Betsy's stricken mind. The pathways of his psychic bonds, first to Jean, then to Emma, gave him a secondhand understanding of telepathy—like he had bridges going from his mind to the two women's, and from those bridges he could look down and see what Betsy was pouring into the ocean.

It didn't tell him anything he didn't already know.

"You like it," he whispered.

_Shit yes—please—I fucking love it—please—fuck the piss out of me—_

Scott kissed her gently on the lips, closed mouth, hoping the softness would reassure her. He was going to fuck her, hard and fast, but it wasn't because he was a brute. It was because it was the only thing that would satisfy her. "I intend to," he said in his commanding voice, the one he used to tell traumatized civilians that everything would be okay, and for all the insight he had into Betsy's character, it still surprised him a little when she clenched around his cock like she had decided not to let him go.

He pumped into her rhythmically, rapidly, knowing the tempo would be irresistible, and it only became more pleasurable as he learned Betsy's sensitivities, the way she liked to be touched. With her broadcasting her thoughts as she was, and him adept at gleaning Emma and Jean's telepathy, there was no way he could be ignorant of how to please her. Soon, she was desperately clinging to him, her legs scissored around his hips as he pistoned down into her. She gasped, she wailed, but no petty sound she made could convey her lust better than how her cunt sucked at his thrusting prick.

"Oooooh, _Scott!" _she shrieked with delight. "This is… wonderful… this is the greatest!"

"I'm just getting started," Scott told her.

Betsy's head thumped again into the exercise mat. Her eyes were worried, but her smile couldn't be denied.

Now confident she could take it, Scott increased the already rapid pace he was setting. Betsy squealed and writhed, dropped suddenly into a sea of bliss. Scott grinned down at her and she tried to meet his eyes, but was only able to see a faint glimpse of them as he lustfully drilled down into her swollen cunt. He liked the thought that in trying to see him, she was only seeing her own lustful reflection in the ruby quartz. She didn't look away. She had admitted to herself how much she loved being fucked. Her entire body shook with pleasure as Scott bore into her, leaving every single nerve in her body awash in rapture.

"That's fucking," Betsy panted—Scott thought he'd overheard another errant thought from her before realizing she'd spoken aloud. She really was out of control… stripped of everything but her lust. "That's real fucking…"

"Want more?" Scott asked her, with a bit of sadism. Of course, judging from her reaction to the spanking, Betsy didn't mind that.

"_Ohhh, yes!" _she squealed, too far gone to hold back anything. "Yes, yes, you beautiful big-cocked _blighter! _Fuck me!"

Her pussy was a flood of hotly gushing juices, but it still clung tightly to his driving cock, accepting his thrusts, sucking him in, barely releasing him when he rocked his hips back to leave her. The clinging, sucking tightness of her cunt was being harshly tested as he plunged himself into her up to his balls, leaving with fat droplets of her cream dripping from his slippery length.

"Fuck—me—fuck!" she cried.

"Do you trust me?" Scott asked her.

The sex-crazed Betsy, once a trained ninja and skilled telepath before all reserve and logic had abandoned her, wildly threw her cunt up to meet his every brutal stroke, taking the spiking pain so long as it came with jolt after jolt of ecstasy.

"Trust you, I trust you," she babbled, her convulsing pussy reaching climax, tightly stretched around his massive cock. "Keep fucking me, love! Don't stop! Don't ever stop!"

Scott didn't stop. What he did was move his hands to her throat, wrapping them underneath her jaw, expertly digging his fingers into her pulse, her airway—too skilled to cause any damage, but leaving no possibility she was receiving any oxygen. And still his cock plunged into her, ratcheting up her ecstasy until it was all she could feel… not her dwindling air, not the numbly growing blackness, only his hands and his pleasure and his mastery of her.

Dark spots appeared in Betsy's vision, marring her view of Scott's handsome face as she strained—not to breathe, but simply to stay conscious to feel her orgasm. It was so close, right on top of her, bearing down on her. _This must be what it feels like to watch yourself be struck by lightning, _Betsy thought nonsensically, staring at Scott's cool smile, his grisly satisfaction in a plan coming together.

Her climax was glorious, only made better by the feel of his seed pumping into her, deeper than even his magnificent cock could go. The thick, hot cum warmed the walls of her cunt, pushing her into greater rapture than she would've thought possible. Betsy was just barely aware of Scott's hands coming away from her throat, allowing her to gasp in air, rekindling her orgasm into a second climax right on the heels of the first. And that joy finished her off, kicking straight into her flailing mind and dropping her right out of her skull.

It felt heavenly.

* * *

Through it all, Scott didn't feel one inkling of Betsy's power. She didn't try once to free herself, she didn't panic for a moment. She trusted him implicitly. She was his. Dog collars, leashes, all the paraphernalia that Emma so delighted in—it was only a showy play-acting of the intertwined trust and obedience that Betsy had just shown him. He could only hope the orgasm that had went nova inside her as she lost consciousness was sign enough of his appreciation.

Scott did not dress himself after coming in Betsy. Quite the opposite. He stripped off what remained of his gi and picked Betsy up, her own body more or less naked. Some might call it a harem, but he would treat his lovers like a team, and he would never ask any of his team to do anything he wasn't willing to do himself.

Besides, he had Emma watching his back. The powerful psychic simply made it so that no one between the gym and his own quarters registered seeing the leader of the X-Men and the headmistress of the Institute carting around a naked, purple-haired ninja.

In Scott and Emma's shared room, Scott carried Betsy to the closet. Emma got the door for him. Scott placed her unconscious body gently inside, making sure to place her so she would sleep comfortably and wake up well-rested. Then he shut the door again. The slatted closet door, like a set of Venetian blinds, were open enough to allow her to see out, but in the darkness of the closet, Betsy would be nearly invisible.

Emma sat down on the bed. Perhaps out of solidarity, she was dressed no more modestly than Scott and Betsy. In fact, she wore virtually nothing. Thigh-high boots, elbow-length gloves, a cape trimmed in ermine, but on her chest and around her hips, there was nothing but a gleaming, glistening array of small diamonds strung on necklaces and body chains. They did nothing to hide her breasts, nothing to hide her cunt, the pubic hair shaved into a small, perfect diamond. Perhaps she thought the glitter of all those tiny diamonds would sparkle enough to hide her nudity. It did nothing to dissuade Scott's ruby-shielded gaze.

"Well done, Mr. Summers," Emma purred, crossing her legs to give herself just a hint of teasing modesty. Her breasts heaved impressively high, as if she were arousing herself by doing so. "I do believe you've fucked Betsy's brains out. It's a good thing she's used to these kinds of out-of-body experiences. Perhaps this time she'll wake up as a mulatto—that's very trendy these days."

Scott gave her a humorless glare, even while inwardly admitting that the jibe was a little funny. Oh well—if the biggest concession he made to the Dark Side while saving mutantkind was finding Emma's bitchiness amusing, so be it. "Jealousy is unbecoming, darling."

"Me? Jealous? Of being choked out by a man's _bare hands _like some commoner?" Emma's lips twitched with slightly overplayed titillation. "Here in civil society, I expect you to use a silk ribbon if you want to choke me."

"That's not a bad idea," Scott said. "I did bring Betsy here to put on a show for her."

Now there was nothing at all playing about Emma's devilish grin. "Oh, _bravo. _Paying her back for all those little shimmies and shakes she tormented you with back when you had a ginger chastity belt on." She beat him to it: "_Don't talk about Jean that way," _she said in a passable imitation of his voice.

Scott grimaced. "It's part of the plan."

"You're so good at coming up with plans, darling. And I'm so good at making them better." Leaning over—and truly making a production of it, especially the way her breasts never seemed to quite give into gravity while also never seeming the slightest bit fake—Emma opened the nightstand.

In fact, Scott really only had Emma's word that her breasts were surgically enhanced. He wondered if she had a dark enough sense of humor to lie about that, knowing all along that her triple Ds were real.

Emma came up with a set of silk scarves—the kind that had never been worn in public. "You want to truly drive Betsy wild?" Emma asked, relishing the prospect so much that she sounded positively masturbatory. "Imagine if she wakes up from being your incontrovertible _bitch _to find that little ol' _moi _gets to tie you to the headboard and ride you like a mechanical bull? I'll make it good for you, Scott. You have no idea the kinds of pleasure I can give you once you let me into the driver's seat."

Scott thought it over. He had broken Emma in, so to speak—he had no doubt about that. Maybe it would make a nice gesture to step back and show her that he trusted her enough to take control. He certainly had no doubt it would be every bit as blissful as Emma implied.

But then again… "And what would you say if I wanted to go another way?"

Emma's face fell and she pouted a little, but it was hard to tell how serious she was. She stretched out on the bed, holding her hands against the headboard, a scarf pulled tight between them. "I _suppose _I could let you be on top and I'd… _try _to enjoy myself. Maybe it would make Betsy feel better, seeing that even her social and cultural superior bends the knee—and stretches the cunt—for her fearless leader." Emma's eyebrows were working overtime, implying both the unseemly pleasures in store for Scott if he decided to top her _and _how much more he'd enjoy himself if he let her have her way. The woman barely needed telepathy; she could conduct a sympathy with her sultry facial expressions.

Scott had to admit, he was hardening already, even though it'd felt like he'd drained himself in Betsy's exquisitely suckling cunt. But there was the plan to consider. And the one thing Emma enjoyed more than a good fuck, whether on top or on bottom, was being truly dominated—driven to the edge of madness before finally being satisfied. For all her virtues, Emma couldn't shed herself of the pristine persona she'd created, her diamond edges. But if someone could do that for her… strip her down to a wild animal of lust and desire, and satisfy her while she was no more than the wanton whore she had once been in the Hellfire Club's brothel…

Well, that was why Scott had Jean's number on speed dial.

He had accounted for Emma bringing out the silk—she had the damn things in the nightstand, after all. But he'd gone into this with no intention of actually satisfying her. After binding her securely, gagging her, even putting an inhibitor collar on her to make her truly powerless… only then would he invite Jean in. They would make love in front of a hapless Emma while Betsy Braddock watched in her own voyeuristic frustration. All three of them would end up his mates, his lieutenants in this new X-team…

But was that plan too complicated? Too many moving parts, too many variables? Should he settle for ushering Betsy into this 'harem' of his by showing her there was no disgrace in submission? And if so, would seeing him let Emma on top destroy Betsy's respect for him or would it show her he could set his ego aside and give his partner what they wanted? Or did Emma need to dominate at all? Could it be what she really wanted was for him to confirm, once and for all, that she was his property, his bitch, his slut as much as she was his lover?

"How about it, Scott?" Emma asked, biting a silk ribbon between her teeth and pulling at either end, making a spectacle of herself that had his erection leaping back to life. "Are you done being a leader yet? Ready to leave Auntie Emma in charge?"

Bad habit to get into, vacillating between this decision and that. He would have to cut his choices down to the best option and go from there.

**To vote on the outcome, go to my Pattreon. And if we get to 550 in pledges, The Summers Drive will be updated a second time this month.**


	5. Bring In Jean

At times like this—deciding just how he wanted to screw Emma Frost, literal royalty in the only monarchy that mattered outside of Asgard, if he didn't want to pass her up for another insanely beautiful woman—Scott found it something of a misnomer how introverted he was. He didn't consider himself a Casanova by any means… that was more Gambit's line… and yet, the Cajun womanizer himself was mixed up with Rogue exclusively these days. Logan was probably the biggest ladies' man in the X-men these days, and with him being unkempt, rude, and frequently smelling of things unmentionable, he was even less likely a charmer than Scott.

There was a curiously intimate distance that he kept women at, but he managed to relate to them that way. Perhaps that was why so many psychics seemed to enjoy his company—craving a break from the cacophony of unfettered emotions and strongly felt feelings that other minds carried. He could be tender, he did open up, but there was comfort in having boundaries, breathing room—even in having a sexual relationship where their passion could be expressed through slaps, biting, whips, and chains as much as kisses and embraces.

Emma, Jean, Betsy—they were powerful, almost ridiculously strong women, and they could have any amount of fawning attention they wanted… if that was what they wanted. So what was perhaps most alluring to them was a man who could resist their charms, a man they could respect, a man who could even take away their power and leave only the calm assurance of his command. Scott was under no illusion of being the most powerful X-man, but when it came to willpower, his mind was every bit one of the diamonds that Emma loved so much.

"Emma," Scott said gently, "do you really think you can dress up like that and not get fucked?"

Emma had a peculiar way of smiling, snarling while she was charmed. As frustrated as she was by his idealism—and other unsavory aspects of his personality—they'd long ago come to terms with each other being the way they were. She laid back and gripped the posts of the headboards. "You'd better make this worth my while, Summers."

She stretched out full length on the bed, flexing her prettily painted toes, showing off the white gold luster of her tanned yet perfectly pale skin, with a glissando of chimes from the tiny diamonds that were her only real adornment.

Scott climbed onto the bed on his knees, taking her left hand and kissing the pale wrist, then pushing it to the headboard and locking it there with a silk scarf, tying it in a stiff knot. "Boy Scout," Emma said bemusedly, though Scott didn't know if she was talking about the kiss or the knot.

He took her other arm and stretched it out in the opposite direction, tying it up so tight that its knot almost burned her skin, but the fabric was in the end too soft for that. She had chosen her materials exquisitely well. They wouldn't do the job for him; Scott would have to punish her himself.

She liked that. You weren't really a bad girl without being punished—every hero knew that. And if a good guy like Scott punished her, then that meant she'd really been naughty.

The knot cut into Emma's soft flesh, tighter, tighter, until Scott was sure it wouldn't release her at all. But he ran his sensitive fingers tenderly along Emma's wrist, making sure the knot wasn't so tight that it would cut off her circulation. He didn't want the materials to hurt her either—not when he could do it. Emma wondered sometimes if that was simple Scott Summers pride in his work or if he relished being cruel to her the way she hoped he did.

Tying Emma up, her arms outstretched, her breasts sprawled across her chest without a hint of artificiality besides the sheer unlikelihood of their massive heft, made her seem even more naked than she had been, vulnerable and wanting in a way most would never see her. It wasn't the first time they had experimented with bondage by any means, but before, Emma'd had the veneer of playing a part. She wasn't _really _submitting to him, only pretending, but now she couldn't maintain the lie that it was a lie.

He was the leader, the headmaster, the husband, and she was subservient to him—his right-hand woman, her mission in life to carry out his will. It was bracing to acknowledge that. This was no longer a marriage of convenience… it was a battle of wills that Emma had graciously lost. The pleasures of being Scott Summers' consort were greater than the pleasures of independence, and she indulged in them as greedily as she ever gratified herself.

"You know what I've heard?" Scott asked Emma, moving to tie her feet in the same spread-eagle configuration as her hands—forming an X with her body. "That psychologists must be psychoanalyzed themselves. Do you do that, Emma? Have someone get inside your head?"

"Oh no, most therapists are _far _too gauche to appreciate my mentality. If I am insane, I most certainly have my reasons," Emma said, supplely preening in her new confinement. She had the feline ability to make any situation seem as if it were her own idea and she was enjoying it immensely. Scott was so amused by this that he almost wasn't going to break her of it.

"As team leader, I'm pretty good at reading people." Scott pulled on Emma's left leg, stretching it out to its fullest extension, pulling his lover taut like she was on the rack before he began tying her ankle to the bedpost. "You're drawn to power. Almost entranced by it. Sebastian Shaw, Jean Grey… you're like a moth with a candle. You can't stay away."

"And now Scott Summers," Emma purred. "King of the X-Men."

"But at the same time, you resent anyone who has power over you. You refuse to submit. You scheme and plot to take power for yourself. Supplanting Shaw. Controlling Jean. Trying to be the power behind the throne with me." Scott finished tying Emma's right leg. She was helpless now, though her eyes shone with amusement. She still had her mind—the greatest defense of all. "In other words, you're a willful little slut."

Emma smirked. "If I made things too easy for you, you might as well be dating Betsy."

For a woman tied, naked and spread-eagled, across a bed, it was amazing how prepossessed Emma looked, how confident she was in her nakedness, her defenselessness, her invulnerable sense of self. In a way, it was flattering. Out of all the people in her life, the superheroes she palled around with on a daily basis, she trusted Scott not to hurt her—or to hurt her, but also to know how she liked to be hurt.

In another way, it was a challenge. She was showing him that it would take more than a little nudity, a few manacles, to get to her. She wanted him to break her, to take her to that level beyond love and hate that she would only let him bring her to, and Emma held him to an exacting standard on that account. She wouldn't settle for a few spankings, some choking, being called a whore or a slut. She wanted to be deflowered, not of her innocence, but of her cynicism and bitterly sardonic shell. She wanted to be his virgin, in pain if not in pleasure.

Scott, of course, had a plan for that.

He opened up another drawer in the nightstand. Emma had her silk scarves. He had an inhibitor collar.

"I got it in white," he told Emma, and watched her delicate throat flex. She had gulped.

But her shaken confidence quickly returned. She eyed Scott probingly, willing to meet his challenge brashly for all her delicate poise. "If only it came with a leash," she teased.

Scott looped the collar around her throat, careful to the point of gentleness. He tightened it precisely, making sure Emma would not be able to get it off, that she would be reminded of its metal confines at all times, but he did nothing to cut off her breathing or even abrade her skin. Then he powered it on—Emma gasped slightly. Her eyes closed, moved thickly behind her eyelids, and then she winced as if in pain. If Scott didn't miss his guess, he'd suppose she was testing whether her powers could get through the inhibitor's effects. Probably even trying to change to her diamond form.

But it did nothing. She was truly helpless now. She couldn't psi-blast him if he displeased her or shift into diamond to break free. And Scott saw flickers of misgiving cross her face. Trust or no, Scott had enough issues to know that Emma could be uncomfortable with this—even too uncomfortable to enjoy the degradation she otherwise craved.

He played his fingers over the secured collar, toying with the clasp. "Did I hear a safe word?" he asked idly, making it sound like no more than a curious question, as he looked Emma in the eyes intently enough for her to feel it through his ruby quartz.

Emma faced him. She smiled a little ruefully, acknowledging the discomfort, the trust, her own gratitude to him for giving her an out. It passed between them so effusively that their psychic bond could've been in operation. "I still know what you're thinking," she said.

"Next time I'll invest in a gag."

"If you can't give me something to talk about, by all means."

Anal beads were next. Scott briskly coated them in lube, then massaged the same into the rosebud of Emma's anus, circling his fingers around and around her hole, gently teasing his fingertip inside, widening her, readying her, making her nostrils flare and her breathing coarsen as she wanted to beg, but refused to. And without her psychic powers, she had no way of knowing when he would give her what she wanted, or even if she would get her precious anal stimulation.

"You know what makes me curious?" Scott asked, letting her feel the first marble-sized bead against her anus now that his lubricating massage had made it so sweetly tender, ready to receive the round intrusion inside. "You love taking it up at the ass, but you hate giving blowjobs." Now Scott pushed the bead in earnest, stretching Emma's sphincter around the furthest reaches of its roundness, suspending her with her anus as wide as it would go. "If it were me, I'd think sucking a dick would be easier than being an anal whore."

He pushed the bead inside her, Emma groaning as she felt its heft inside her rectum, knowing that was only the first drop in an ocean.

"Maybe your cock doesn't taste as good as you think it does," she replied with a contorted expression.

Scott smiled and started to push the next bead inside, slowly, carefully, but stopped, taking the pressure of his fingers away, letting her anus expel the bead. "Jean liked it just fine."

"Jean doesn't have my refined pah—" Emma lapsed into cross-eyed ecstasy, pained by tension, as Scott pushed the bead all the way inside her in one go. "Palate!" she finished with a deep whoop of breath. "You bastard… don't interrupt me when I'm—" She felt him pressing the next bead through her rosebud. "Fucking bastard!" she cursed as it went in.

"Remember, next time I'll gag you." Scott let go of the beads to draw his hand back. "And tie you up on your belly instead of your back." He brought his palm down on her hip to show her why—the impact smacking her ass, but not taking full advantage of the roundness of her buttocks. Still, it sent shockwaves through her rectum, made her clench, and the beads reacted against her pain, turning it into pleasure that brought her to the brink of orgasm.

"_Ghhhh!" _Emma moaned. "God… you… you fucking _man! _I'd once have a peasant like you flogged for treating me that way."

"Weird way to show your gratitude." Scott pushed forward with the next bead, letting his fingers brush against the blazing red handprint he had left—Emma wincing and clenching as the lingering pain ran headlong into her slow pleasure. "I suppose Jean is just a cock-hungry whore and you're not."

"It all depends on… what cock I'm hungry for…" Emma panted, a heated sweat giving the lie to her usual wintry countenance. It made her pale flesh gleam with a pure splendor the diamond body jewelry couldn't hope to match.

"And where you're hungry for it." Scott was giving it to her rapidly now, adding one bead after another, each one a little bigger than the last. But Emma was showing no signs of pained difficulty. On the contrary, she was taking her sodomy easier than ever, hips twitching, rolling, beseeching him for more with her body.

Scott had a somewhat uncharitable thought involving Hungry Hungry Hippos and was glad Emma had the inhibitor collar on. It was the kind of inner monologue that, if not squelched by mental discipline, could ruin the mood and get him banished to the couch.

Although with her ass now about to gulp down the last of the beads before the stopper at the end, Scott guessed him being on the couch at the moment would be more of a punishment for her than for him.

"What… about… you?" Emma asked, gasping for breath now, barely able to speak when every little movement jostled the beads inside her. She'd worked herself up too much, tried too hard to control herself, and now she was in a downward spiral of tension and repression and pleasure and no release.

"What about me, dear?" Scott asked, sickeningly obsequious while Emma was right on the verge of coming.

"Look… at me… look at… my body…" Emma practically hyperventilated, every heaving breath making her curves jiggle and quake. For all her years as a dancer, she couldn't make her body move better than that. "You could have me… right now… but you just have to… fucking top me… _sadist!"_

Scott only smiled at her. "You like sadists. You think we're fun."

Emma licked her lips quickly. "I told you… I don't need powers to read your mind…"

Scott teased her by not teasing her, giving her what she wanted, as he pushed the final bead inside of her, the pressure like teeth working on a jawbreaker. Emma crooned, her eyes rolling back in her head, and Scott could see how she wanted to orgasm her pussy clenching, her hips twitching in a desperate reenactment of a fuck, promising rapture to any man if he would only lie on top of her.

Emma managed to get herself under control, her climax denied once more, but her resolve enough that she could almost make it look like she didn't want it to come screaming back with every fiber in her body. "You're going to… get me all worked up… make me desperate to come… then leave me like this while you go fetch Jean," she continued. "And when I'm all hot and bothered, I'll be so horny that you'll just have to bring her in and I'll be humping her leg like a bitch in heat. Then you'll have both of us."

"I like to think it's elegant in its simplicity," Scott said.

"Of course it'll work, you damned fool, _look at the way I dress. _I'm a whore. But there's no need to go overboard." She craned her neck to look Scott in the eye, biting her lip with her juices running out of her womanhood like it was a pot about to boil over. "Fuck me. Make me come. Then play your games. It won't make any difference. And it'll be so much fun." She smiled lovingly, innocently, like she wasn't strapped to a bed with nothing but diamonds on and seven anal beads up her ass. "Promise I'll be on my best behavior with Jean. You know I'm always a good girl when I'm stuffed full of cum."

"Maybe I have plans for your cunt. Plans that don't involve it being full of my seed," Scott said. "And look at the way _I_ dress. Do I not look like a fan of delayed gratification?"

"_Scoooott," _Emma keened. "I don't beg men to fuck me. I just don't."

"Maybe you should," Scott retorted. "And maybe I shouldn't go to Jean smelling of your cunt."

"If she doesn't like my cunt, this threesome doesn't have much of a future."

"And Betsy could wake up at any minute."

"Do you need that long to make me come?"

"It'll be even better if you wait."

"Then why don't we just save ourselves for marriage?" Emma snarled. "My cunt. Your cock. Now!"

**A. Give the people what they want. Take The White Queen**

**B. Let her stew in her juices. Leave Emma Wanting More.**


	6. Leave Emma Wanting More

Scott unzipped his fly and pulled his cock out to let Emma see it. Her eyes went wide; shocked once more at his size and what's more, how _ready _he was. He crawled onto the bed, rising over her until they were face to face. He could see from the frenzied look in her eyes, the expression on her face that stopped just short of begging, how much she wanted it. There was no point in lubing her up. She was too aroused to need it.

He pressed into her, her cunt snapping shut on his cockhead almost as though it were trying to keep him out. Slowly, steadily, he fed himself into Emma's sex, watching the change go over her as she went from a poised dilettante to a cock-hungry whore—giving into the sheer need he could feel inside her pussy, burning at his prick, sucking at his cum.

Quivers went through her voluptuous body, her breasts jiggling particularly attractively on her chest, while her expression wobbled, twisted, caught between pain, satisfaction, and a keen desire for more. Furthermore, he could feel her desperation through their psychic link, her thoughts like an echo of his, only with no original sound to produce them. She enjoyed the thickness of his cock as much as he enjoyed the tightness of her sex, and it was almost agony not to give in and drive all of himself into her, relish all of her tightly clasped pussy at once, and begin the frenetic movements of their fucking. Thrusting into her for however many hours he decided she could take before she'd earned his cum.

"Say it," Scott told her. "Beg."

The White Queen might've refused, but moony-eyed, open-mouthed, this slut he'd revealed her as was only too willing to give in. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmeFUCKME-!"

Fitfully he gave Emma his last few inches, leaving her nearly orgasmic by the time he slid into her up to his hilt, her sapphire eyes rolled back in her head, her lips twitching with the demands she could no longer utter. Scott himself groaned, feeling her tightening around him, washing his cock with her juices. Her entire pussy was his, as snug around his cock as if it were built for him, massaging him with masterful pressure—both serving him and urgently demanding his seed with a servile brattishness that was so perfectly _Emma _he nearly hurt with affection for her.

He held himself inside her, letting Emma clench on the hardness of his cock as if in disbelief, her active hips unwinding against his stationary ones like she was opening a dance, trying to entice him to join in by beginning the motions that would bring them both so much pleasure. Her cunt gulping his prick, swallowing and relinquishing it in perfect measure, and cajoling him to thrust into her and complete their togetherness. Move and countermove. Rhythm and beat.

Emma's perfectly full lips formed a dazzling smile, aimed up at him both in gratitude for getting her way and anticipation of him giving in further. "You know you want to, Scott. You know how good it feels. Now _really _fuck me. I didn't ask for just your cock, after all. I asked to be fucked."

She leaned up to kiss his square chin, her entire body quivering around his penetration of her. Her breath heaved her cleavage up against his chest, then broke sweetly over his face as she exhaled.

"Give me what I want."

Scott looked down at her, the single red eye of his visor unreadable. "What about what I want?

"Yes, yes—" Emma turned her head to the side, baring her throat, showing him her perfectly cut profile, surrendering to him while her pussy kept up its wonderful invitation, her hips pumping weakly up to him as if taunting Scott to show her how he could _really _thrust into her. "Take what you want."

"What I want," Scott said, lowering his lips to her exposed throat, stopping an inch from her visibly racing pulse, "is to fuck Jean while I'm wet from your cunt. To have so much of your juices _dripping off me _that I won't need any lube. To have her swallow you along with my cock… when I fuck her beautiful face."

He pulled himself away from her, all of him, from his cock to his face. Emma moaned and keened, begging him to stop, rattling against her bindings as she tried to free herself—"No-no-no-no-no"—but Scott didn't let up. Even as Emma threw her groin up to his, savoring every last moment of his slowly withdrawing cock, impaling herself on it as many times as she could in a sprint for orgasm. Scott could feel it brewing, the pleasure of it pouring into her mind, about to overflow; but the more he pulled away, the less of his cock there was for Emma to fuck herself on.

Finally, he was entirely outside of her, his weighty erection slapping against his thigh as he let it weaken—still with the heft of a sword in a scabbard. Emma rolled her hips some more, desperately trying to conjure up something to fill her, but it was useless. Her ass fell back to the bed and she quaked, this time in anger.

Scott came up to straddle her waist, folding his arms over his chest, his thighs holding down her still-twitching lower body. He looked at her with his coolly burning eyes. The link between them was still open. He could feel Emma's arousal growing.

"You bastard," Emma said, her voice shaking with emotion. "I should kill you. I should fucking kill you. Maybe when you come back—son of a bitch—you'll show some respect…"

Scott smiled humorlessly down at her. "Why? You loved every second of my disrespecting you."

"You're the worst fuck I've ever had," Emma dared. "I wish I'd fucked your brother. I wish I'd fucked _Logan. _Oh, no wonder your wife keeps leaving you!"

Scott's jaw muscle twitched and Emma knew she had gone too far. But she didn't have the humility to take it back. She had to own it. She eyed Scott challengingly as he crawled over her body to plant his knees in her armpits. A part of her hoped that he would find her across their psychic link, see how she regretted the jibe, but she couldn't back down.

Taking hold of his cock, he slapped her across the face with it, knocking her head to the side. He held her in place by the hair and brought his erection down on her cheek repeatedly, like he was pounding a nail home with a hammer. Emma knew, _knew, _that she was his. Scott would only bother to discipline his woman. Anyone else he would release. It was the only comfort she had as the humiliation mounted, the discomfort, the certain knowledge that she had no power beyond the restraint of Scott's inviolable decency. He might punish her, but he would never do anything so rash as to damage his property.

"I should prop that dirty mouth open," Scott said, his voice a threat. "I should fuck your throat until it's worn raw. I should come on your face until I don't have to _look at it _anymore. I should choke you until you have bruises for _days, _and when anyone looks at you, they'll know you were the filthy whore that enjoyed it. You would enjoy it. Wouldn't you? And that's why I'm not going to do it. I'm going to leave you here and let you think on if you want to be a good girl for me or a bad girl. Good girls get _fucked. _Bad girls get to watch."

Emma had never been closer to begging than she had been at that moment. She sincerely wanted to apologize to him—at least as much as she wanted to get fucked, even. But however much she needed his cock, needed _him, _she already had her pride and she would not let it go now, not one scrap of it.

She met his eyes as much as possible through the wall of ruby quartz. "Use your hand, you little poof."

His hand jerked back, then flew across her face. Pain flared over her cheek, a dark red mark marring the pale perfection of her face. Her lip was impregnated with bitter pain as well—it'd torn, a trickle of blood soaking her mouth, even hotter than the rest of her. A diamond didn't burn in a furnace. It only heated up.

Tears welled in Emma's eyes involuntarily. Scott swiped one up with his thumb and tasted it. Emma could see his manhood respond, the knob pulling free of the foreskin, throbbing over her as it leaked precum onto her features. Scott seized her by the throat and held her still a moment longer, rubbing his cock over her face, smearing her with cum and spit and her own arousal, her make-up becoming a fright mask, running mascara, smeared lipstick. But he pulled his cock away before he'd rubbed too much off on her. He was saving it for Jean, she knew.

Scott tucked himself away, zipped up, then wiped her lips with the back of his hand. Emma's tongue lapsed out and licked the blood away. For a moment of silent communion, Emma could see she was forgiven. Scott wouldn't punish her if he didn't think she could be good. She wouldn't enjoy it if she didn't know he could be bad.

"I'm going to go find you a gag," Scott said, pressing his fist against her mouth, one last kiss of her own saliva and blood, leaving her lips a vampiric red. "One you won't like the taste of."

* * *

Lorna Dane looked out at the car window at the storefront the red light had stopped them next to and gazed almost lustfully at the mannequin on display. Black jacket, black blouse, shorts, fishnets, and big punkish boots. It would look just _hellacious _with her green hair.

She turned her head the other way, looking at Alex Summers in the driver's seat. She thought of dressing up in that for him. It would surprise the fuck out of him, maybe give him the biggest hard-on of their marriage—or he might think she looked cheap, slutty. Alex could be so passionate, so rebellious. But he wasn't always the most adventurous. He wasn't an X-Men after all. They always made love in bed, usually with him on top, usually in the dark. He didn't like taking her from behind and while he seemed to enjoy blowjobs well enough, they'd been married a full year before Lorna had ventured to get down on her knees and indulge her own curiosity on the subject.

And she'd never once told him how she fantasized about being fucked in the ass. He'd be shocked if he knew she was even more curious about that than she had been about oral sex. No, Lorna was the broken bird, the fragile bipolar girl, and she shouldn't be subjected to Alex's vile sexual urges—even if it was Lorna who wanted to have her breasts fucked, Alex coming all over her face and hair alike, finally making her green hair match her pale skin…

The car jolted into motion. Lorna put her thoughts aside. It was probably best not to get too excited. She was in recovery, everyone kept telling her, and she had to take things slow. That's why they'd 'retired' to this small town, with no bigger responsibilities than running a store and living their lives. But what was she recovering _for _except to be a good wife—maybe one day a good mother? And Alex certainly wanted to be a good husband. So why couldn't she dress a certain way and have him treat her a certain way?

She wondered if Alex's brother had this problem with his… whatever Emma was. Frost was a crazy bitch, certainly, but Lorna had a hard time believing Scott restrained himself to missionary sex for fear she'd go back to the Hellfire Club. Shit, with Emma, the first thing boring sex would do was drive her back to that supervillain strip club…

"Penny for your thoughts?" Alex said.

Lorna smirked. Marital issues or not, Alex just had to flash that grin and make those little jokes and she was utterly smitten. Was it any wonder she'd magnet-fuck anyone who hurt him? Or touched him? Or tried to take him away?

"You know us girls," Lorna replied, thinking back to dark fishnets on pale skin. "Fashion."

"Maybe we could open a boutique if the shop keeps doing well," Alex suggested. "You've had some pretty nice costumes over the years."

"A manic episode can lead you to pull off some real crazy outfits," Lorna retorted. "I don't know how the sane people do it. Remember that bikini thing Storm wore?"

"You're plenty sane," Alex said seriously. "Storm's the one who keeps fighting giant robots. And calling herself a goddess."

"I don't know—she really pulls off that biki—"

Alex jammed on the brakes. Lorna was thrown forward, having to stop herself by repelling against the metal in the car's frame.

"Alex! What the—"

She stopped, seeing what Alex had seen. The store was… in ruins. Windows broken, merchandise scattered across the floors. The closed/open sign hung in a door that was partially knocked off its hinges, one of many graffiti tags strewn across it. This one read MUTIE GO HOME.

* * *

There Jean was. The girl Scott had been in love with since he'd known girls as more than boys who could wear skirts and dresses. A simple, uncomplicated love, neither pushed to the side nor pulling to the lead now that Emma had a place in his heart, but simply there. Part of him.

Something refreshing about the surge of warm, unreserved emotion he felt looking at her, even though he knew intellectually that there was nothing simple about any of this. She'd died and come back, pushed him away and pulled him back. He knew that things had changed, but had they changed so much that what they'd once had was now transmuted into lead? Or was it still gold?

Complications. Between time travel, space travel, and Congressional hearings, Scott would've thought love and sex would be a cinch, but they remained vexing. Even his _timing _was complex. He was looking through the door to Jean's classroom, where she was monitoring the students as they took a test—the powerful telepath easily able to discern any kind of cheating. Of course, it seemed rude to interrupt. But how long could he wait before Emma worked her way free—in the hopes of her disobedience netting her a more satisfying punishment—or before Betsy woke up?

Could he afford to wait or was it better to be bold, imperious, challenging Jean openly on her home turf? That almost seemed more the kind of move Emma would go for… but with all the changes in their lives, Jean might have more in common now with Emma than she didn't.

He was still hard from Emma. He wanted to fuck Jean so badly, it felt like he finally understood how she'd talked about having the Phoenix burning inside of her. Maybe that was what Jean wanted from him—what she'd found so engaging about Logan. Nothing from the intellect. Just raw, uncaring sex. At that moment, he would've gladly fucked Jean in front of each and every one of her students. What were the odds that Jean would enjoy being more scandalous than Emma Frost for once…?


	7. Do Jean Now

Scott spared one last look at Jean. She was the Phoenix—not just Death but Life, Destroyer as well as Creator—and appropriately enough, she struck him as the polar opposite to Emma. Emma flaunted her power, her sexuality, her beauty, everything in her arsenal. Jean tried to downplay it, as though she could be modest about coming back from the dead. As beautiful as ever, she wore a wool cardigan over a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, her blazing hair in a bun that actually managed to be demure, a tartan skirt coming down to her knees, her pearly white stockings, reminding Scott of the schoolgirl who had grown up alongside him. He'd loved her then. He loved her now. Even dressed like a librarian, repudiating all the fire of the Dark Phoenix, she tempted him as strongly as Emma ever had. Scott had no choice. He could either be traded between the two women, fought over like a poker chip, or he could come up with a plan to satisfy everyone.

He'd come up with a plan to defeat Dracula once.

Scott charged into Jean's classroom, each foot falling with its own heavy import. On the one hand, there was the famous drive he was known for—the leader of the X-Men, the crusader, the heir to Xavier and the point of the spear for all mutantkind. He may have been amoral, he may have been ruthless, but there was an efficiency to him that couldn't be denied. He only had to decide on the best course of action and he took that route like floodwaters raging downstream.

But as if that weren't enough, there was the man himself. The blue eyes long since buried under his ruby quartz visor, guarded by his mutant power. Even with the force that constantly smoldered in them, ready to be released into destruction, they still looked lovingly at Jean.

For months since her return, they had been on the outs. She was unsure of what to make of his relationship with Emma, while feeling adrift herself. Unsure who she was, how much of her was the Phoenix and how much was Jean, how she felt about Scott and who it was that was even feeling whatever it was she felt.

Emotion, frustration, friction—it all added up to a passion that was rarely seen in Scott and Jean responded to the telepathic vibe coming off him like the tingle of ozone before a storm.

"Scott," Jean greeted, irritated by the intrusion but also bemused. It seemed like her wry eyes could never be truly angry with him. The Dark Phoenix and her very real wrath seemed like something that had happened a million years ago. "You kinda caught me in the middle of something."

Scott glanced sidelong at the students: heads down, scrawling on their test papers, but obviously straining to catch what was being said. The Stepford Cuckoos weren't even hiding it. Emma's little monsters had, of course, finished their test early.

"Let's talk privately," Scott said.

Jean sighed. "And they say I get you into trouble." She looked out at the students and when she spoke, her voice seemed to echo—both inside their heads and out. "Class, you're to focus on your work and pay no attention to Scott. He's not even here."

And like that, the classroom forgot all about Scott. As far as their young minds were concerned, he wasn't there.

Scott half-grinned. It was funny. Jean and Emma were so different, but they were hardly the Madonna and whore so many of the X-Men liked to see them have. Jean was as willing to be ruthless as Emma, she just coated it in moral rectitude—telling herself it was for the greater good. Scott supposed Emma did too… but Frost made it abundantly clear that she considered herself a very large part of that greater good. Jean was either less self-aware or more, but she was definitely on a different level than Emma.

"I don't recall putting in an application for your harem," Jean said, still amused, but her eyes now flashing dangerously. It was possible Scott had made a misstep in hiding this conversation from the students. Jean had no reason to censor herself. "Are you here headhunting?"

"More or less," Scott admitted.

"I can taste them on you," Jean said. "Emma… Betsy… you do have a type. Do you really need three of a kind?"

"They have a type in me too," Scott told her. "Why do you think that is?"

"A strong jawline and an excuse to wear sunglasses at night," Jean teased.

"You think it's a coincidence that all the psychics on the team seem to have a thing for me?"

"I think you must be the first person in history to fish for compliments telling you you have a great personality."

"I wouldn't say I have a great personality," Scott said darkly.

Jean tsked. "Typical. Every guy on this team secretly wants to be emo. Guess that visor hides a lot of eyeliner."

"It's not that," Scott insisted. "You, Emma, Betsy—you have something else in common. You're all ruthless."

"And you are too?" Jean asked. She looked out at the classroom. "Eyes on your own paper, Jerome."

"I'm cynical, and I act accordingly. It seems like that puts us in the same boat. Maybe it's because you can see how many times people are operating in good faith and how many times they aren't."

Jean smiled ruefully—a little dazzled by Scott's insight into her. As awkward as he had been as a teen, the moment he'd gotten those ruby quartz shades, he'd never stopped looking through them. Never stopped seeing. "You should hear a person's thoughts when they find out I'm a mutant. And being a beautiful woman doesn't help either."

"I can imagine."

"You can't," Jean said simply. Her weak smile finally gave up and became a scowl. "What point are you trying to get to? You're a good leader, Scott, but inspiring speeches have never been your forte."

"No," Scott agreed. "But as I said, the three of you have a lot in common. You're strong, both physically and mentally. Almost unbelievably powerful, in fact. With good hearts, good morals. Even Emma," he headed her off, watching with some satisfaction as Jean closed her parted lips without getting a word in edgewise. "But you're ruthless, you have to be—you know the kind of thinking we're going up against, better than anyone."

"Maybe not better than a man who had Apocalypse in his head," Jean allowed, meeting Scott's eyes. She could almost make them out in their semi-translucent prison.

"He fit in better than I would like," Scott admitted in turn. "We all have the power, we have the will—we worry constantly both about going too far _and _what would happen if we don't go far enough, while having so much power that there's precious few others the responsibility can land on. That's a lot of pressure to be under." He smiled confidently at Jean. "Maybe that's why you like being treated like cock-hungry whores. And I love fucking each and every one of you like the bitches you are."

Jean colored, flushing so hard that Scott could tell even in his little ruby-quartz world, but he had known her too long to think it was embarrassment. Jean was aroused—the mindless background noise of shuffling papers and scratching pencils reminding her that she was being watched, if not seen. Hearing Scott talk dirty to her under those circumstances was a touch right to her clit. She relished the possibility of being naughty, being bad, while worrying she'd go fully Dark Phoenix. It was still more pressure on her—pressure that demanded release no matter what Jean's overcompensating prudishness insisted upon.

"So that's what you propose? Fucking me like a cock-hungry whore? Making me your little bitch?" Jean asked. Her voice was deathly even—trying too hard to stay level. Like a flame burning blue instead of red. It only seemed cooler.

Scott grinned wider. Normally, he wouldn't let himself seem so brash, but Jean could read his thoughts… knew he was exactly as confident as he presented himself. "You may not know this, but to the outside world, Emma isn't such a slut. In fact, she's considered a humanitarian."

"I think we're discovering another reason for me to be a cynic."

"But when she lets her hair down, takes off the glasses, takes off _everything, _she's all woman. She's under a lot of pressure, being headmistress of the Institute, owner of Frost Industries, second-in-command of the X-Men. When I'm telling her what to do, how to fuck, everything she worries about just goes away. You've probably noticed her thinking changing. Last week, she had a vote go against her at a shareholder meeting. Afterward, two solid hours of sucking and fucking, then she was walking on sunshine."

"You don't have to sell me on fucking you," Jean said with a wary smile. "I remember how good it was. I can even tell how much you want to. With the way you want me, there's no way it wouldn't be… a lot. Maybe even too much…"

"You like too much," Scott reminded her pointedly.

"So does the Phoenix. Are you going to dom the Phoenix?"

"For you? It'd be worth it."

Jean grinned with the smitten smile of the schoolgirl he'd first met. "And children? You really want to bring kids into this world? Not just Sentinels and the Brotherhood, but with you keeping a _harem? _God—Emma Frost as a mother."

"She is good with kids," Scott pointed out. "And you've seen Nathan, Rachel. We have a good track record for people who technically don't have kids."

Jean's shoulders shook as she suppressed a laugh. "You've got me there… maybe it's the Phoenix talking, but I could stand to be in a harem if you're the one I'm feeding grapes to. It sounds fun. Maybe that's how I get around all this—flame. Instead of being jealous of other women, just relish the… experience of it all. Shit, I've wanted Betsy's ass for years… not like that…"

"A little like that." Scott grinned, showing his approval of the idea. Given Emma and Betsy were already in his little harem, Jean could well imagine he'd gotten a taste for it.

She'd never been that liberal herself—a schoolgirl dalliance with the Scarlet Witch aside, and crushing hard on Storm, but everyone had done that. She imagined it'd be a great deal of fun to finally dive in. Emma had relished having power over her as the White Queen, back when Mastermind had been controlling her, and the only thing that assuaged Jean's resentment over that was the knowledge that, with some little-used feminist leanings, Emma had forbade anyone from taking advantage of Jean's brainwashed state beyond using her for her power. Under Scott's watchful eye, she'd pay Emma back for that twice over. Getting revenge and, if Emma were the bottom that Scott suggested, letting Frost enjoy it too.

She wasn't the only one imagining the possibilities. Looking down at Scott's trousers, Jean saw that his manhood was erect now, ready to thrust into anything that wanted it. A fiery voice whispered what to do and Jean gave it free rein for a moment, grabbing Scott, licking his face as she felt his bulge, as hard as battleship steel beneath his khakis.

"I love how hard it feels," she whispered. "It's… _delicious."_

He kissed her, but not with the lust she might've expected. There was real love there, a true affection that Jean could not believe would be in a kiss with anyone else—at least, not the same way. In the same way that she loved Scott differently from her parents, her friends, the team, she had to believe his love for her was special, uniquely warm with all their years together, how he'd come to think of her as his other half, everything, absolutely everything in their lives that led them together and kept them in love and could not break them apart.

But the old doubts were there, as insidious as the Phoenix had ever been. She had changed so much from the girl next door that Scott had fallen in love with, now having more in common with the cosmic entities that sat above them in judgment than the petty human concerns she dwarfed. Was she only pretending to still feel them? And Scott had changed as well. Even if the old him could still be in a relationship with her, could this new man—the one openly in a relationship with Emma Frost while asking her to resume their marriage, and with Betsy Braddock as a lover on top of it! He'd talked of ruthlessness, of the darkness inside both of them that they could fight together, but that was one thing… sharing him, sharing _herself _with other women… Jean remembered the freeing, corrupting influence of the Hellfire Club, when she eagerly would've participated in orgy after orgy with Emma. That was still a part of her, but how far did it run and where would it end?

As excited as they both were by the prospect of a threesome with Betsy, would Scott be as excited to watch his darling wife be fucked by Wolverine? More than that, double-teaming her alongside Logan. The thought of having both their cocks in her at once made Jean's sex run liquid, and she telekinetically rubbed her juice-damp panties against her hard, hot clit. She couldn't believe how ready she was.

Then Scott brought his mouth against hers again.

She didn't know if she'd call it a kiss. It wasn't like that. It was more like an attack, but that word wasn't right either. An attack couldn't be welcomed. But it was certainly as violent as an attack, him forcibly kissing her, violent to the point that it was almost against her will, because how could she consent to being dominated so firmly? And yet, she did.

It was as pleasurable as a kiss, but far more intense. His lips—still as soft and loving, at least in form, as when he'd kissed her the first time—stayed demandingly against hers, and his tongue moved deep into her mouth, running against her own with an unmistakable note of conquest. Instinctively, she was struggling against him, not reluctant, not resisting, but trying to assert her own dominance—and being unable to. Scott was simply too masterful to deny. She didn't need her telepathy to know that. She could feel it in her soul. Talk about change: whatever awkwardness or fear of harming her that he'd once had was now long gone, burned away by the Phoenix's flames. He knew how much she could take as well as she did, if not better.

Finally, he released her, allowing her to breathe. Jean felt grateful relief, but also a perverse heat. _He _had decided when she'd had enough, when it was time for her to breathe and time for her to service him. Even that little detail had been his purview, not hers. All she had to choose was to submit or not to. The Phoenix was actually silent—savoring this new sensation, this delight that Jean could not, would not interfere with.

It had been true before, it was true once more: even when Jean couldn't trust herself, she could trust Scott. She stared into the visor, not able to see into his eyes, yet able to see into his soul—something that for once made her grateful for her powers. Even as he topped her, she knew his love for her ran infinitely deep. Far more than his own urges, he wanted to please her. He knew this would do it.

Maybe that was why he seemed to be catnip to psychics. It was a heady sensation, realizing she was about to be fucked out of her mind for her own damn good.

"Make me your bitch," Jean breathed.

Scott smiled. He'd always had a nice smile, but the utter self-confidence she saw was new. And exciting. "I have Emma tied up in our room. I wonder how you'll sort out the pecking order…"

"Fuck the pecking order."

Jean swept her mind over her desk, casting every single item on it down to the floor. Flattened by another telepathic wave, the students saw nothing amiss, coughing and shifting in their sheets as they continued to fill out their tests.

"Right here. Right now," she continued. She grabbed his cock again. It felt even bigger now. Jean imagined herself dressed as the Black Queen again, her wrists shackled, twisting at Scott's feet, a slave to the cock overflowing her hand right now. "This can't wait."

It certainly couldn't—not with the way she was squeezing it. Scott pressed his hands against the austere, unthreatening pattern of Jean's schoolmarmish blouse. As conservative as it was, it couldn't even blunt the attraction of Jean's full breasts, which filled his hands and diligently sprung up as he squeezed. "All these years and you get me just as hot as the day I married you…"

Scott might not've had the Phoenix, but he did have his own little voice whispering to him: responsibility. "What if your control slips? They'll see us."

Jean smirked, her lips so red, they could've been aflame. "Then they'll know what a cock-hungry whore I am… and how lucky I am to have you fucking me like your little bitch."

She threw her arms around his neck and forced her lips to his, trying once more to overtake him in dominance and pleasurably failing. She groaned in lust as their tongues met.

Out of the corner of his eye, his gaze safely hidden by the visor, Scott noticed a flash. Mindee Cuckoo was not like her sisters in the Three-In-One, sitting politely quiet like some good little girl in a Victorian storybook. Trying to be surreptitious, she had taken her cell phone out and now had the camera aimed at him and Jean. No doubt it was recording. Unless she was in the habit of recording her teachers in idle moments—and with kids these days, who knew?—she had been able to break free of Jean's mental dictates and now had noticed something amiss. It was probably the fact that she and her sisters tripled up their power. Jean's telepathy wouldn't be as effective on a gestalt consciousness as it would be against a single mind.

Scott wondered what to do. If he pointed it out to Jean, it was possible she could compensate for Mindee's psychic strength and properly put her down—and it was also possible that such a thing would ruin the moment altogether and kill his chances with Jean.

"Scott," Jean purred, taking off her glasses and shaking her hair loose. It only took a moment for her red locks to become as unruly as a lion's mane. "Your bitch needs you." Her tone blended sincerity with irony until the two were interchangeable. More than anything else, the Phoenix seemed amused to be a bottom.

Scott's cock throbbed harder than ever. _It _certainly didn't mind the change-up. But could he really fuck Jean in front of the Stepford Cuckoos? It was his decision to make; Jean had enthusiastically placed herself in his hands. He doubted they could be planning anything too nefarious. They were Emma's creatures, and as her fan club, they might have some mischief planned, but nothing truly harmful. Then again, with Emma—with _three _Emmas—why take the chance? Hell, they were eighteen, likely candidates for Emma's breeding program once the White Queen had proven herself the trendsetter. This could end up being the kind of guileful manipulation that Emma approved of so strongly.

Did he dare try it?

**A. Go through with it. Put On A Show For The Three-In-One.**

**B. No flash photography. Tell Jean.**


	8. Put On A Show

"Slowly," Jean breathed, her voice so strained she might have been begging, though the sheer need in her tone was far too vehement for that. "Give it to me very slowly… that's it… bit by bit… inch by inch… all the way… ohhh, Scott, your _tongue…!"_

Scott knelt between Jean's stockinged legs. He had her pinned against her desk, almost sitting on it, but with her hands clasped on the rim to keep herself from drifting too far back. Her skirt was drawn far up over her groin, showing her stockings and garters like an outline of where her panties had been before Scott stripped her of them, and her flaming pubic hair like a big red button for Scott to press.

Scott spread the engorged folds of skin that surrounded her slit like flower petals and ran his cheek along her thigh and up to her sex, sniffing her arousal as it grew more and more prominent. When her stingingly hard clitoris came into view, Scott tapped it with the tip of his tongue, and Jean nearly launched herself off of the desk save for her hands holding her down. She threw her hips forward, trying to capture his tongue in her cunt, but Scott held himself aloof from her.

"Not so fast, Jean," Scott rasped, his own breathing coming hot and heavy. He looked up through her silky bush, between her firm breasts, and saw her face expressing both agony and addiction. "This is our first time in a while. We should savor it."

Jean bit her lower lip. The ache in her pussy was unbearable. Already she was clenching inwardly, her juices streaming down her thighs, wetting the stockings that had once seemed so chaste to her. Droplets of the lust Scott had aroused in her clung to her pubic hair, glistening like tiny diamonds—no, like rubies, blazing red with the light reflecting off of Scott's visor.

"I don't think… I can survive savoring it…" she panted. "Why do you treat me like a princess when I need to be fucked like a whore?"

Scott smiled up at her. "Because you're a goddamn princess." Then he kissed her pussy, making Jean whinge. "And you won't taste nearly as good once I've tried breeding you."

Jean smiled shakily herself. "Don't sell yourself short… if your cum tastes as good inside my cunt as it does coming out of your cock…"

Scott shook his head. "You're the kinky one, remember? I'm just trying to make you happy."

"Uh-huh. Funny how you keep finding kinky bitches who need to be spanked to be happy."

"Maybe you should do a case study. 'Mutant sluts and what gets them off.'"

"Why bother? Gambit will tell you all about it if you buy him a drink…"

Mindee watched them banter, her teeth grinding together in frustration. She couldn't see what it was exactly Scott was doing to the teacher, only that his head was between her legs. She couldn't feel the psychic reverberations of Jean's pleasure, she couldn't see how his tongue worked furiously in her pussy—Mindee could only shake with envy and try to imagine what it felt like for Jean, her legs thrown open, Scott's soft lips giving her a kiss somewhere so much more meaningful than her mouth.

No, Mindee had to settle for the next best thing. Keeping her recording phone aimed at the two adults, she rubbed through her skirt and into her panties, making her clit feel _something _like how Jean's must be feeling.

Scott sucked his tongue back into his mouth, tasting sweetly of Jean's pussy, and kissed her toned thigh as it gleamed with her wetness. "You taste so good, Jean. I want you to taste you coming all day long."

"I may take you up on that offer," Jean purred. "We have a lot of lost time to make up for. But for now, I want you to come. And not in my mouth…"

Scott rose up, fixing Jean with his gaze as he undid his belt, his zipper, hauled his cock from his briefs. She might not've been able to see his eyes, but with this degree of intimacy, it was impossible for her not to read his mind and feel his lust for her on a level he could never say. Jean panted, out of breath, almost hyperventilating as she shared Scott's arousal.

Scott parted her thighs, stepped between them, and his cock pressed effortlessly through the tightest folds of her cunt as a hot knife would go through butter. He felt her inner muscles tugging at him as much as they had tried to hold him out, but he was inexorable. Guiding himself in to the root of his cock, then slipping back out of her as Jean nearly gibbered with her desire for him to stay inside her.

"I'll come where I damn well please," he told Jean, and she nearly climaxed then and there. However complicated things might have gotten at the time, his relationship with Emma had clearly been good for him. If he could dom _the White Queen, _clearly no one was safe.

Mindee's mouth hung open, heedless of giving away her voyeurism as she watched Scott's engorged balls smacking against Jean's ass with every thrust he made. Her fellow students, lost in the haze of Jean's telepathic blinding, might've been ignorant of it. But to Mindee, it was like a personal taunt, like Jean and Scott were openly teasing her. _She _was a superior telepath, _she _could see through Jean's illusion, but she could give no sign of hearing Scott was snorting and grunting as he fucked into Jean like a wild beast mauling its prey.

Jean raked her fingernails down Scott's back like she wanted to rip right through his shirt. She was groaning, gasping with every thrust he made into her. Mindee could tell it wasn't fake. They were both getting off on Jean being his cock-slut.

In seconds, the pleasure Mindee had thought she'd been feeling in masturbating herself was utterly eclipsed by what she felt watching Jean come. Her own juices flooded her crotch, droplets rolling over her inner thighs and being thrown off by her quaking arousal. As she watched the two fuck, Mindee wished with all her heart that someday she would be married to a big, strong man like Scott who would fuck her half as good as Jean was getting.

Mindee moaned under her breath, now able to summon up enough will to touch herself once more. She had to. Jean was coming hard, the initial climax quickly giving way to the next and the next, as if Scott were keeping her on some orgasmic plateau with each rough thrust.

Still, Jean said "Stop _playing _with me," her voice almost pleading, but with the same serious undercurrent as before. "_Fuck me _or I'll fuck myself, you… you prick… goddamnit!"

In a flash, Jean grabbed Scott by the lapels and whirled them around so that he was shoved down on his back atop the desk. She mounted him, spreading her thighs so wide that her skirt nearly split, and rode up and down on his well-hardened cock. Mindee felt another twinge of jealousy, seeing the massive base of Scott's prick that even Jean wasn't able to lower herself to. Then she scolded herself for thinking such a thing. That was Emma's man. Mindee couldn't just think about him that way… even if he was fucking Jean, it wasn't like he'd be fucking every woman in the Institute. Would he?

"If you want to be fucked," Scott said, putting his large hands on Jean's womanly hips. "All you had to do was ask."

Then he took charge. Full and direct. Jean had been riding him like a mechanical bull, trying to impale herself violently on his erection, stay in the saddle while her body shook with pleasure. Scott did the opposite. Holding her at the waist, he worked her up and down on his cock, working his hips as he did it so his manhood disappeared up into the heights of Jean's belly, where Mindee'd had no idea a woman could be penetrated. She could almost see the bulge of where Jean's trim waist was distended by Scott's knob moving underneath it.

Jean was immediately lost in the wilderness of a complete, dominating fuck. The only thing she could really feel was Scott's hands on the curve of her hourglass figure, holding her in place on his rocking hips and pulling her body to him when he wanted her cunt at the base of his prick. Everything else was overwhelming intensity—the bodily equivalent of staring at the sun. Jean felt his huge erection throb and jerk threateningly inside her, as if warning her of how her cunt would be ruined when Scott finally came.

Then Scott flexed his powerful arms and Jean traveled up his shaft, a powerful vacuum forming inside her. The emptiness was unbearable after she'd experienced what it was to be full. Jean cried out for Scott to stretch her hungry pussy once more.

He always did.

Inside her well-used cunt… almost inside her _womb… _Jean felt Scott's huge knob swell. She grinned blissfully, knowing she was still the girl Scott Summers fucked. Let Emma be the new thing. She was the _first._

"Can you hold it?" Scott asked, his voice terse but calm. It turned Jean on even more, knowing how expert her lover was in the midst of her rapture.

She put her hands on her belly and felt the throb of Scott's erection deep inside her. "I don't know, baby… I have to… God, how can I _not?"_

"The class," Scott told her. "Can you keep them under?"

Doubt flooded Jean's eyes. She didn't know if she'd even _survive _a simultaneous orgasm with Scott like in the old days, let alone be able to keep it under wraps. There was a reason the X-Men's nocturnal activities made the Avengers look like a book club. All that psychic fuck energy had to go _somewhere._

Scott instantly made a judgment call, like a switch being thrown. As much as it pained her, Jean took his domineering treatment of her like another thrust of his cock.

In a flash, Scott was up, dropping Jean to her knees on the ground. Mindee saw his huge cock in the open air, throbbing with the tightness of her cunt, every inch of it dripping with Jean's orgasmic cream. Mindee gave a little strangled gasp, unable to believe her eyes. She hadn't actually seen many cocks, except in Playgirl, but she was smart enough to realize that even by the liberal standards of most men's self-image, Scott was _massive. _Hung like one of the horses in Emma's stables, and ridden far more frequently.

Scott stooped over Jean, ripping her blouse open with a chorus of buttons flying in all directions. She wore no bra underneath her top, and Mindee was reminded of how Scott had said Jean was a cock-hungry whore underneath her teacher appearance. In fact, it seemed like she'd been starving and now she was about to be fed.

As Jean knelt there, her blouse hanging open, her bare breasts on display, Scott stroked his hand up and down the astonishing length of his erection. And he turned his head. Mindee found herself staring straight into the glowing ruby quartz of his visor. A smile creased his stoic expression as he looked at her, eyes roving up and down her trembling body. Mindee couldn't move. Her mind raced with thoughts of how angry Ms. Frost would be knowing that she'd let Scott Summers look at her this way, but she was held fast by his bold grin and implacable stare.

"_Hhn!" _Scott grunted, and he came right into Jean's open mouth, then all over her naked breasts. Jean moaned, slowly letting his cum drip out of her parted lips as more of his seed slapped against her chest, stingingly hot, making her sensitive skin reverberate as if with another orgasm. Before the cum could fall onto her chin, she lapped it into her mouth with a tongue and swallowed it.

She lifted her ample breasts to her mouth, running her tongue over their cum-strewn curves, her growing hunger reminding Jean of being a teenager who'd just discovered sex. Her cunt ached, throbbed as if she'd never been fucked in all that time. She wanted nothing more than Scott's cock back inside her, giving her more of this wonderful cream.

And still Scott _came, _firing into Jean's face, her hair, all the temptingly exposed flesh of her chest and belly that demanded his mark. He never seemed to look away from Mindee. He just covered Jean, like she was so _his _that his cum would not land anywhere else.

It turned Mindee on so much to see the kind of thing that happened to Ms. Frost behind closed doors that she came without knowing that she was anywhere close to climax. She gasped, her body went rigid with rapture, and it was only thanks to Jean moaning herself that she didn't hear Mindee cry out. Mindee fucked her hot little cunt right in front of Scott until the delicious spasms could not be compelled to stay any longer, then she just sat there, watching as Scott's emptied cock slowly declined and Jean dripped with his cum.

Slowly, haltingly—looking at disordered as Mindee felt—Jean came up to her feet, holding her blouse closed over the breasts Scott had painted with his cum.

"Time," she said weakly, her voice remarkably composed while her face was set in the cock-drunk look she'd worn since Scott had taken charge of the fuck. "Everyone, please leave your tests facedown on your desks and proceed to your next class."

* * *

Scott did not give Jean permission to wipe her face clean, so what she couldn't lick up, she simply left on her face until the last student had left. Then she did up the few remaining buttons on her blouse, holding it slightly shut as she put back on her cardigan.

Perhaps, despite all the power she could wield, Jean was simply constitutionally passive, even submissive. Perhaps that was even why she and the Phoenix had formed such a compelling bond. In any event, she greatly enjoyed putting aside everything and simply being Scott's for the moment.

"So," she said to him, "you have Emma Frost tied to a bed?"

"And gagged."

"That should be interesting." Jean stood, taking a moment to ready herself. She'd need to project an image of herself where she wasn't half-naked and dripping with cum to everyone they met in the hall. Scott simply had to zip himself up. "_You're _more interesting. In the old days, you never would have let that little urchin record us."

"You noticed?" Scott asked.

"I'm the Phoenix, Scott. I tend to notice wet cunts. But then, I didn't care to stop her either…"

Scott stared at her, surprised. He'd gotten off on the exhibitionism of the fuck, but he would've thought Jean would prove jealous of another 'participant' in an encounter where she was meant to have him all to herself. Most women got mad when their turf was honed in on like that. But Jean's eyes shone with burning curiosity. There were some women who got feverishly turned on by being naughty, and sharing their man with a 'rival' definitely counted. But if Jean had resolved to simply relax and enjoy the ride—well, interesting was certainly one word for it.

"Of course, I know what she and the other Cuckoos are planning to do with that recording." Jean smiled sunnily at Scott. "But why should you care? _You're _going to have a threesome. All you have to decide is which of us you're going to fuck first."


	9. Fuck Jean

Betsy came awake as Scott and Jean swept into the room. The feeling of Emma's bound desperation—as the blonde both repressed and irresistibly fed her lust, trying the bonds and gag that held her without success—had already put Betsy in a good mood, giving her some extremely pleasant dreams. But Scott and Jean's need for each other was impossible to sleep through.

Betsy stood up, noting she was as naked as Scott had left her, enjoying the freedom, the inclusion by proxy as Scott and Jean stripped themselves. They had to be nude for the sex to be fully enjoyed. For two such cerebral persons as them, there was nothing as erotic as going to the extreme opposite, letting the world dwindle down to naked skin gleaming in the light, sweat shining brightly on thrashing bodies, the sight of firm muscles and luscious curves. Betsy was the same way.

As was Emma. Betsy could tell, seeing how the ice queen went from coolly smoldering and pulling at her bonds to twitching her hips, her thighs rubbing together as she regarded the two perfect bodies now joining her in nudity. Jean smiled at her, picking up the submissive lust Emma simply couldn't deny.

"Hello Emma. I'd say this is a side of you I'd never seen before, but let's be honest, you have hinted at it very openly…"

Scott gave her a swift, not unpleasant strike on her ass. "Don't be rude, Jean. You two are in the same boat."

His gaze swept over Betsy through the slatted closet door, seeming to include her silently with a meeting of their eyes. _You three are in the same boat._

Jean looked to be considering Scott's admonishment, but she didn't appear too in favor of it. With the same panache Emma might've used in displaying her body, she slunk her arms around Scott, hanging off his muscular frame.

"You know what Scott's thinking, Emma? No, of course you don't—the only thing _you're _wearing is an inhibitor collar." Jean laughed sunnily. "He's thinking about how you don't suck him off. Imagine—a sweet cock like this and you don't want it in your mouth…"

Scott put his hand on the small of her back, pushing her along, easing her to the foot of the bed. "I don't want it in your mouth either," he said, and drove her with gentle firmness onto the bed, between Emma's spread-eagled legs. "Not right now…"

Jean playfully scooted down the length of Emma's body, running her lips along Emma's long alabaster legs as though it were impossible to deny their suppleness. Which, for the watching Betsy, it was. The only thing keeping her in the closet, watching instead of participating, was knowing that soon, she'd be an integral part of all their games. She wouldn't be able to _not _get fucked by all of them. Watching the play, seeing it as a neutral observer, was soon going to be a rare experience for her.

Jean came to Emma's groin, her red hair trickling across Emma's thigh as she came away from Emma's leg to regard her cunt instead. "I can tell what Scott sees in you," she purred sweetly, flicking her eyes back to Scott to reassure him she was on her best behavior. "And smells. I'm sure a woman as refined as you wouldn't taste of anything but the best. You'd eat yourself out, if you could. Maybe… hitch a ride on someone else's brain while they lick you?" She ran her tongue along the trembling lips of Emma's womanhood. "Bet you wish you knew what I was thinking right now. Bet you wish you knew how I liked your taste…"

"Jean," Scott chided, kneeling on the bed. "Be nice."

"Does Emma not think I'm being nice?" Jean asked rhetorically, dipping her tongue slightly inside of Emma's sex. Emma cringed, back arching—clearly enjoying it despite herself. "There. That was nice. And Emma, I'll give you a hint—you don't taste as good as Scott."

At the sight of pleasure being given and received, Betsy started touching herself. As good as it felt, it couldn't compare to the lustful cauldron inside of Emma. She was most turned on of all of them.

Scott reached over Jean to remove Emma's gag, finally allowing her blue-lipsticked mouth to contort to match her blazing eyes. "That's funny: the number of times he's been inside me, you'd think I'd taste _exactly _as good as Scott—"

Scott sighed. "Do I even have to say it?"

Emma looked at him lovingly. "You don't have to worry about _me, _Scott. You know no one could ever accuse me of being the least bit uncivil. Genteel, perhaps. Elegant. Refined, certainly. But never _rude. _Or inaccurate. So when I say that perhaps Jean's affection for your _victual _is just an unambiguous love of cock's flavor…"

Jean smirked as she rolled over onto her back, resting her head directly on Emma's crotch. "She's just begging to be punished, isn't she? But it's my turn for that…"

Scott joined Jean between Emma's legs, crawling over her, kissing her so hard that it drove her head against Emma's groin, melding his body to Jean's sumptuous physique. She moaned, feeling his hard cock nestle against her groin, her aroused juices coating it as they rubbed against one another. Scott embraced Jean, sensitive hands stroking and caressing her smooth back, tracing out the ridges of her vertebra and sending delights through her flesh as he worked his hands down to her tightly rounded buttocks. He took her ass in both hands and strongly pulled Jean to himself as he thrust into her.

They gasped together as his manhood disappeared into her pussy—then Scott gritted his teeth as the waves of pleasure from being inside her began to pound at him. Jean's eyes twitched a little and her head drifted back to lay on Emma's cunt again—already cock-drunk and ready to do whatever Scott wanted with her.

"Pathetic," Emma breathed, trying to hide how impressed she was by the way Scott had hilted Jean on the first thrust. Even she was hard-pressed to do _that. _"Jean, you must have really been starving for it after all this time. What's the matter? No necrophiliacs about to keep your itch scratched?"

Jean only grinned up at her. She had her long legs wrapped around Scott's waist, holding him in a vise-like grip that demanded the hard thrusts he gave her and tried to make him stay inside her cunt, but even her toned thighs couldn't hold him in.

He wrenched himself out of her, leaving her red bush dripping with her own flowing juices and his growing precum, before he fucked back inside her. Then he slid back out, dragging with him more of her cream. It matted her curly pubic hair and glistened on her mound, as if her screams and moans weren't evidence enough of Jean's pleasure.

Jean wound her arms around Emma's thighs, holding herself steady with them as her body otherwise completely surrendered to Scott's needful lust. She sucked in breath, raising her tits up high to display their creamy pallor, the nipples thick and dark with arousal, erect like they were reaching out for Scott's touch.

"Yes, Scott," Jean moaned, feeling him pinch her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pull torturously on her flesh until she could feel the pain even through a;; her pleasure. "I've never been fucked like this before… I've never had it like this in all my life!"

Over and over, Scott drove himself into Jean's wet cunt. Each thrust he made slammed through Jean and reverberated through Emma as well, jiggling her overripe breasts and sending contortions through her finely angled face. Crimson appeared in both Emma's drawn cheeks. She was growing ever more aroused—turned on by being ignored even as Scott and Jean fucked on top of her!

"I'm—I'm coming—I keep coming—Oh Christ!" Jean gasped. "I don't think it's ever going to—stop!"

Scott kissed her hard, the passion of it pushing her head to the side as he sucked at her neck. She had to bite down on Emma's inner thigh to keep from screaming her lungs out. Then she felt Scott's lips against her ear and heard him whisper "Can you smell how wet Emma is?"

She could—she hadn't realized what the acrid scent was, but now it registered—Emma Frost, the White Queen, Bitch Goddess of the X-Men was getting off on being dominated by the two of them.

Jean released her biting grip on Emma's flesh and shrieked "Scott!" as her lust overpowered her, making her convulse on a new plateau of orgasmic bliss, thrashing like a madwoman as her climax utterly consumed her. Her long red hair flew against Emma's naked thighs, sticking to Emma's sweat to resemble the scarlet lines a flail would leave as rapture glazed her intelligent eyes into a limpid astonishment. She had both forgotten what it was to be Scott Summers' cockslut and been totally unprepared for all he had learned about pleasing women with Emma as his partner.

It seemed to take an eternity, but finally Jean's endless orgasms died away and her rigid body went slack, collapsing back down to Emma's soft body. Jean was amused to find Emma's groin burning hot against her cheek. Her breath came in gasps, almost synchronizing with the panting lust making a desperate woman out of Emma, and her body trembled with faint memories of how intense her orgasm had felt around Scott's thrusting pick. Emma's body shook too—not with contentment, but with need.

Scott's lecherous smile covered both women. Jean could tell he was as pleased with Emma's state of deprivation as he was with her own quivering afterglow. "Would it be safe to say this is what you came for?" he asked with flawless irony as he dragged his still-hard cock from her sex, neatly reawakening Jean with as much arousal as Emma had ever felt, all of it dancing through her freckled body once more.

"Mmm… almost." Jean had to pause as Scott's engorged cockhead finally slipped out of her, making her go cross-eyed with a sudden flood of sexual energy. "I didn't just come here to be fucked. I came here to be _bred."_

Scott kissed down the line of her jaw, finishing at Emma's pussy underneath her, lips sampling the frothing taste of Emma's arousal. The White Queen whimpered piteously—Jean knew it was all she could do not to beg. "To be a good leader, the team always has to come first."

"I'm not sure I can be that patient. You have so many of us to come first and I don't like to be kept waiting." Jean moaned deep in her chest as Scott kissed her lips, the passion almost overwhelming, and the taste of Emma's cunt delivering the finishing blow. Jean felt her pussy clench; wasted when his prick was outside of her. "Goddamn, Scott, I can see why Emma doesn't want to share…"

"Then you got enough of what you came for," Scott said. "Now it's my turn."

Jean's hooded eyes widened. She had to work to repress her telepathy, keep from instantly plucking from his mind what Scott wanted, but the delicious suspense was worth it. At that moment, she would've given him anything, and she smiled up at him, breathless to see what he chose. "You know nothing's too good for my wonderful husband. Just ask, darling." Then, just to spite Emma a little more, she teeped to Scott with a devilish naughtiness to her thinking. _I'll show you why every X-Man wanted to fuck this pussy if you show me why I let _you_._

Scott smiled teasingly, circling his forefinger around one ruddy nipple. His touch was easily enough to torment its sensitive hardness—a torture Jean would love to be broken by. _You're the telepath, Jean. Remember what I always dreamed of doing after I reamed out your pussy?_

Jean sighed. Taking Scott's other hand, which he was using to prop himself up over her, she pulled it out from under him and dropped it down to her womanhood, where he obligingly massaged her. _Remember? How could I forget? You thought you were so in control, but every time you saw me smile, you thought of shoving that big stiff dick in my mouth. It was the only thing that could get you to stop thinking of fucking my pussy… was that everything you dreamed of, by the way?_

Always. And I am in control, in case you hadn't noticed.

I don't think you're in control so much as I'm out of it, Slim, my love.

"Are you two going to teep simpering sweet nothings to each other all night?" Emma demanded, flustered even more by their telepathic silence than she had been by their lovemaking. Scott and Jean shared a smile—it was obvious to both of them that the voyeur in Emma had been looking forward to enjoying their dirty talk every bit as much as they did. "It's rude," she continued. "Just so rude…"

Jean felt Scott's member brush against her thigh, seeming to pulse harder than ever with its nearness to her cunt. He came closer and the weight of his swollen balls smacked against her ass—Jean could only imagine how full they were with hot cum. Her mouth watered at the thought.

He came up over her body, his cockhead trailing over her skin, slick with her cream, until he was straddling her head—most of his body arranged over Emma, who he was face to face with. They looked into each other's eyes, Emma not needing her power to feel Scott's magnetic will working at her.

Jean was already a willing victim of it, sucking and lapping at Scott's cock with a gluttonous appreciation of her own taste. Looking down, Emma saw Scott rolling his hips, pumping himself against Jean's face until it glistened with the same sheen as her cunt, his cockhead smearing over her cheeks and mouth.

"She's hungry, Emma," Scott said, cupping Emma's face in both his hands, running his left thumb over her lips. She puckered them for it automatically, wishing the touch she felt on her mouth was that of a pulsing cockhead like Jean had. "Should I give her a nice hot load of cum to swallow?"

"Mmm-hmm," Jean mumbled happily as she opened her mouth wide and caught Scott's knob.

It went into her mouth and down, down, down her throat, contorting Jean's beautiful young face until the whole thing was lodged in her gullet, the coarse hairs of Scott's pubis grinding against Jean's impaled face. She felt the heated heft of Scott's balls as they hung against her chin.

"It must drive you crazy," Scott said, his lowered voice nearly purring, burning Emma up with its soft insolence. It was not an unpleasant feeling for her—not when it was Scott. "She's not the White Queen. She's not even a whore. She's a mouth. A set of lips. A cum dumpster. But I'm fucking her and not you. I'm fucking her mouth. You can feel it, can't you? I'm fucking her throat like I could be fucking yours."

Emma moaned, wishing it were her as Jean streaked her tongue around Scott's cockhead, while she could only lick her lips. Scott was right. With every pump Scott made into Jean's mouth, Emma could feel the pressure of Jean's red head against her sex. The roiling power. The sheer weight that impacted Jean's face so heavily.

"Please, Scott… please… she's already gotten to come, she's already your bitch. It's my turn. Take my mouth, Scott, take my throat. It's yours. You can come in it as much as you want—I'll swallow. I'll take every last drop like a good little girl… your good cum dumpster…"

Jean sucked, enticing Scott's cock deep into the tight ring of her full lips. Her tongue danced over his shaft as she sucked and slurped at his erection—when he pulled out, it was almost to flee the overwhelming pleasure. But then he was drawn right back in, fucking her sensual face once more, reigniting the urge to come. He had to fight it down harder each time.

Jean wrapped one hand around the base of Scott's prick and the other around his scrotum, massaging the weight of his balls in her palm.

_You just got me back, Scott, _she teeped, though the tenor of her thoughts, the salivating lust, demanded his cum more than her words ever could. _Aren't you going to mark your territory?_

Betsy licked her lips. She had Scott, Jean, Emma. All of them were horny as hell and she had the body to take them all on. Maybe that was a bit greedy, but her cunt had been hot and wet for what felt like hours. She was ready to fuck any of them, to switch places with any of them, whether it meant topping Emma or taking her place tied up to the bed.

But what she wanted most of all was Scott's cum, either flowing all over her face or filling her mouth or even pumping between her legs, making her the first of Scott's harem to bear his seed. After how the other two had staked their claims on him—the wife, the mistress—wouldn't it only be natural for her to be the mother of his child?


	10. Give It To Jean

It was enough to make the normally stoic Betsy smirk. She was literally coming out of the closet, but it had little to do with the two perfect female bodies on the king-sized bed—Emma Frost bound to the headboard, with Jean Grey laying her head between the blonde's legs. Not for any cunnilingus either: she was facing upward, using Emma's muff like a pillow. She mused about how it was actually a little surprising, between her own athletic body, and Jean and Emma's supermodel looks, that nothing Sapphic had developed. Yes, Betsy had leanings that way, but no real convictions. She was interested in seeing if Scott could manage all of them, but if he couldn't, she wondered what kind of orgy this might develop into.

Above the two women, Scott thrust down into Jean's face. He was in the missionary position with Emma, all set to ride her cunt like any woman would dream of, but with Jean in the way, he was filling her mouth instead. Jean was greatly enjoying that, and in her own way, Emma was enjoying it as well. Either she was a born submissive or Scott had made her into one.

Betsy bit her lip. She knew very well how persuasive Scott could be. He may not have been much for words—there was a reason Xavier had been the face of the Institute for so long—but when it came to actions, there were few better.

The natural route for a foursome would be one of them with Scott, the other two with each other. And yet, as feminist as it was, Betsy couldn't work up any major enthusiasm for Jean or Emma. Not when Scott was there… making Emma his bitch… hilting his cock in Jean's throat… he was the brass ring and Betsy, aristo that she was despite all the X-Men liberalism she'd come into contact with, did not want to settle for a side dish when there was only one plate of prime rib to be had.

Betsy's every stride was a symphony, her large breasts jostling, her corded muscles playing in sweet harmony beneath her pearly skin. Nonetheless, she garnered no attention from the other three people in the room. She wasn't offended. The debauchery going on in the bed was enthralling, even for her.

But no matter how enthusiastically the threesome on the bed fucked and sucked one another, Jean's power couldn't be denied. She couldn't overlook Betsy forever. Jean paused in her savoring of Scott's erection, then loudly slurped it as her teeping rang in Betsy's mind. And no matter how long Betsy had had her powers—longer than she'd had this body, actually—it still took her aback to see Jean's mouth filled with cock while her words came clearly into Betsy's head.

_So you're here too. Scott is ambitious. I hope you don't think I'm embarrassed to be seen this way. I'm actually rather enjoying it._

Jean's thighs rubbed together, spreading the gloss of her dripping arousal between them. Even telepathically, the invitation was unspoken, almost challenging.

_That's not what I'm here for, _Betsy teeped back, though it was hard to deny how tempting the prospect was. Taste Jean's cunt, wait her turn like a good girl… and if Scott couldn't get to her, well, he'd already fucked her half to death once. Maybe she should live to fight another day.

_Not on your life, _Jean sent, knowing Betsy's conclusion before she'd reached it. As if in reward, she sent some of her sensory experience with the thought. Betsy could taste Scott's precum, feel the girth of his prick stretching her throat—ghostly, insubstantial, but arousing enough to have her reaching for a vibrator at any other hour of the day.

_We could share,_ Betsy teeped.

_Because that's your strong suit._

That, if nothing else, made Betsy flush. She had been rather a tramp back then—and not in a good way. _I wasn't myself in those days. You of all people should understand that. And now Emma has her hooks in Scott. You expect her to share?_

_Knowing her, I expect Emma to take the lion's share for herself, then get Scott to fuck us once in a while just to rub our noses in what we're missing. _

_Sounds like a good bit of fun, actually. If you're getting the lion's share._

_Oh, it is._

_But you're not quite first in the queue anymore, are you?_

Jean put her hands on Scott's hips, possessively holding him as he continued to slowly roll his groin against her open mouth. _No. He is pretty fond of that… _tart _Emma._

_You're telling me. I never actually got him into bed—not even in our heads._

The stream of feeling from Jean's senses shut off, but Betsy realized she could still smell the musk of their sex. She had wandered close enough to take it in her own flaring nostrils. _What kind of reality TV bullshit is this? _Jean finally sent. _You want some sort of alliance to fuck _my _husband?_

_Pretty sure if you die, that counts as annulling the marriage. And I'd think of it more as a non-aggression pact. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that. Better to have half of something than all of nothing._

_Enough with the clichés. He's going to come in my mouth. You can have him next. Cool?_

_'Cool'. _Betsy sent, managing to put a dry British wit even on the wordless thought. Somehow, she found herself relishing the thought of seeing Scott creampie Jean's throat. Even more, seeing Emma have to do without… and then realize that Betsy was the next to get his cum.

Then, even if it ruined her cool imperial reserve, Betsy allowed her feelings of arousal to drip over to Jean's mind as Jean's experience of blowing Scott had. Jean opened her eyes, looking over at Betsy—and winked at her. _I think we're going to get along just fine…_

In the midst of their psychodrama, Scott still held himself over Emma. She could look up at him as though he were thrusting into her, but with every pump he made down to her, Jean took his cock. It was enough to make Emma whimper, though a smile flashed underneath her pouting sadness. Her body trembled with need and she enjoyed that need almost more than she would having it met. It'd been so long since anyone had been man enough to truly dominate her. Whether it was real or not, she found herself enjoying playing the part—simpering to Scott like she really was just a horny bitch.

"Nooo," she whimpered, tossing her head to the side, feeling Scott pant on her exposed neck like a bull as he kept thrusting and thrusting into Jean's face—Emma could feel the steady pressure as Jean's head rocked back against her groin. "Don't give her your cum… give it to me… she doesn't need your cock like I do… she isn't a whore like me…"

Scott grabbed Emma's hair and dropped his fisted hand down between the mattress and the headboard, pulling Emma's head down into her pillow. As he pumped himself into Jean's mouth, her throat, Scott leaned his forehead against Emma's, his visor so close to her that she could see through the glowing ruby quartz to his eyes inside. "Look me in the eye while I come down another woman's throat."

He pulled back with his hips, drawing some of his substantial length out of Jean's lips—Betsy went wide-eyed as she saw inch after inch pulling away from Jean's mouth like the sword in the stone. Scott had inducted her into the ranks of his harem only that morning, but in the hours that'd passed, she'd already dismissed her memory as wishful thinking. As domineering as Scott was, she'd only _thought_ he was so well-endowed. A combination of wishful thinking and second-guessing; if Scott really was that astonishingly hung, then Betsy'd had virtually no choice but to submit to him. And so, with the peculiar neurosis common to so many, Betsy had lost her self-awareness to hold two contradictory ideas at once: that she had been overcome by a massive erection, and that since nobody was likely to be that big, Scott really wasn't _that _big.

Jean savored the reminder Betsy got just as Betsy had enjoyed experiencing the taste of Scott's cock secondhand.

Emma had her own little reckoning to deal with. Her inhibitor collar might've robbed her of her psychic powers, but she had still become adept at reading Scott's facial expressions. The look he was giving her was not the one he made when she stole away his control, when she overcame his self-restraint with her sexual skill and the sheer perfection of her body. No, he was grinning coolly, confidently, not overwhelmed with pleasure, but simply deciding it was time for Jean to receive her reward. It gratified Emma, knowing that Jean hadn't truly earned his cum, hadn't gotten Scott off, and she vowed that as soon as she was free, she would show Jean the proper way to fuck her husband. Jean's husband, Emma's man.

Even Scott, though, had to let out a groan of satisfied effort as he ejaculated into Jean's mouth. His first burst of cum surged into her mouth, too quickly and too much of it to be swallowed. It bulged out Jean's cheeks, filling her mouth to the point that a trickle emerged from the corner of her lips.

Scott wasn't done, but incredibly he held back, checking his ejaculation after the first wave to allow all three women to register what had happened. How Jean's mouth was stuffed, so much so that even now she couldn't gulp down all of his cum. "I want your throat," he said gruffly, his rough voice leaving no doubt that he would get it.

He drove himself back into Jean's mouth, down her throat, his thrust forcing the cum out of Jean's mouth. A large portion of it landed across her face, while more spilled down her chin and marked her bare breasts. Scott came more, his cock in Jean's throat, his ejaculation going right into her belly.

Jean couldn't breathe, his prick swollen with its pumping cum, blocking her air as his ejaculation went on and on. She could feel the slight hunger of a skipped breakfast going away as Scott forcibly crammed her belly; her hips helplessly twitched upwards, enacting coitus with a partner her lustful body said should've been there. The hearing of every person in the room was ravished by the sound of Jean gargling, gurgling, forcing down every drop of Scott's continuing ejaculation while trying to stomach his cock impaling her gullet as well.

Thirty seconds ticked by with Jean unable to breathe, her body dedicated to taking Scott's cum instead of her own survival. Thirty-five seconds. Forty. Scott was still going, his cum swelling out Jean's belly, giving it a visible bulge as he used her to the fullest. Jean reached up, feebly patting at Scott's naked body, able to do little more than feel the shaking tension in his corded muscles as he kept going and going, force-feeding her his cum, seeming determined to pump so much into Jean's body that she would never be without his seed.

Betsy watched with shock and a bit of envy. Was this how she'd looked as Scott choked her out in their sparring match? Had she too looked… grateful?

Finally, Scott judged that Jean had had her fill—or perhaps, impossibly enough, there was simply no more cum, even in his bloated balls. He pulled himself away from Jean's ravished face, leaving her covered with cum and gaping as she tried to catch her breath. He rolled off of Jean and Emma alike, leaving Jean to cough weakly—some of Scott's excess cum landing on Emma's thigh. The blonde moaned excitedly.

Scott laid beside his two women on the bed, leaving Jean half-awake, trying to catch her breath with Scott's cum still foaming in her mouth, while Emma pulled at her bonds in a fever pitch of arousal. She was nearing her limits, her degradation and deprivation almost too much to bear, her lust needing to be replaced with satisfaction.

For a woman as proud as Emma, Jean being half-drowned in cum was _nothing _in comparison_. _She felt like she'd die if she didn't soon get the rapture she deserved, that her goddess body demanded, that only Scott could give her. Her very dependency angered Emma, even as she craved more of it. She wanted Scott to _hate her _into an orgasm. She wanted him to shame her further, to bring her to the peak of humiliation—to embarrass her with how hard she'd come for him. And, powerless to do anything else, she vented her rage and trusted on some implicit level that the universe would rearrange itself to soothe her temper. It had done so plenty of times before.

"Is that all you've got?" Emma asked, though her shrill voice was near tears. "You always come more with me. I know how to _really _make you spurt."

Betsy wasn't listening. She'd been shocked by how hard Scott had come. A few scant hours after filling her, and with God knew how many intervals with Jean and Emma, he had truly filled Jean. Betsy could telepathically feel the upset stomach Jean had from swallowing such a vast quantity of cum.

Scott's prick had stopped its lusty throbbing, but still looked as firm and as hard as ever—a burgeoning cudgel swinging between his legs, wet with the aftertaste of all his cum. It couldn't stay up much longer, could it? It had to grow flaccid…

Betsy actually felt a little scared. When Scott had choked her out, she'd thought that if their fuck continued, she would've eventually worn him down, maybe made him the kind of putty-in-her-hand she was used to men being for her. But now, she began to doubt her convictions—her own skill and her own power. Did she have it in her to defeat that rampant erection that had bested both Jean and Emma at the same time?

She had to face the challenge. Scott knew it and she knew it. He eyed her with no evident surprise and Betsy realized this must've been what he wanted, his plan. He wanted her to see how he'd made Jean Grey and Emma Frost, two of the strongest women Betsy knew, into his bitches. He wanted her to know she was next. A fair warning. A taunt. But could he really get it up after all that or was it just a bluff?

Betsy couldn't live with herself if she didn't find out.

"Room for one more?"

Scott's eyes moved down to the purple slash of her pubic hair, her slit already wetly lubricated. There was no need for foreplay. Nothing could arouse her more than the combination of what she'd just witnessed and the challenge Scott had implicitly made to her. A challenge he now made verbally, removing all doubt, leaving no way for Betsy to refuse.

"I'm not the one who needs to make room."

Betsy walked around the bed, eying his cock as she would a sleeping rattlesnake. It was still firm, but it wasn't moving, wasn't getting any harder. She could take it. Jean, Emma, at the end of the day they were soft. Two peas in a pod, queens black and white. Betsy was royalty too, but she was also a warrior. And if Scott wanted to defeat her this time, he'd have to do more than appeal to her fetish. He'd have to make her his bitch. And he'd have to make her enjoy it, too.

As she joined Scott on his side of the bed, Betsy wasn't sure what she wanted more: to be a winner… or to lose to Scott as Jean and Emma had.


	11. Fill Betsy Up

A/N: Hey, thanks for reading this far and sorry for taking so long between updates. As you might've guessed, I'm making up for lost time now, and just to remind you all since it's been a while, this is Choose Your Own Adventure story, with polls at the end of each chapter on my Patry. So be sure to visit if you'd like the full experience; the name is Mobofair. If that doesn't work, there's a link in my profile.

* * *

Raven sat at her laptop, examining her erstwhile reflection thanks to the computer's webcam. She told herself she was practicing her ability, but really, she was examining herself as she would naturally look if she hadn't been born a mutant. A Nordic goddess, with golden blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and wondrous fair skin. She wouldn't just be accepted by normal society. She'd be beloved. A model, even an actress—men and women lusting after her, wanting to _be _her, instead of her having to be _them._

An e-mail arrived. Raven slipped back into her real face. Mystique. Yellow eyes looked back at her before she closed the webcam program and opened up her e-mail account. It was from a Xavier Institute address. Curious. And a video. Curiouser and curiouser. She opened the file and the screen dropped into black, reflecting her blue scales before image came up.

Scott Summers was fucking Jean Grey. More than fucking her, he was treating her like a cheap whore—and in a way no woman could resist. Well, if one could resist it, it certainly wasn't ol' Dark Phoenix. As a connoisseur of acting, Raven could tell Jean wasn't faking it as she reached orgasm. One after another. Boom. Boom. Boom.

More than even _that, _this wasn't taking place in a dark bedroom with the windows closed and the covers pulled up, like she might expect from the X-Men's boy scout. No, Scott was fucking Jean right in the middle of class, at the teacher's desk no less—Jean's nameplate was on the desktop, but she seemed to be the one getting the lesson. No doubt using her powers to keep the students casually in the dark; all but whoever was shooting the video.

Raven licked her lips. She could think through the implications later. For now, she was a creature of passions. It was time to allow this passion to have its way. Not taking her eyes off the screen or thinking to pause the video for even a second, she opened up a drawer in her desk and fumbled through it until she found her vibrator. She didn't bother turning it on. Naked as she was most comfortable with, she inserted the tapered end of the dildo slowly inside herself. There was plenty of arousal to lubricate its entrance. As she rushed herself toward orgasm, she kept watching, while another part of her thought, cool and reptilian. Even in masturbation, Mystique was two-faced.

She could hear what Scott was saying to Jean—how he cajoled and praised and manipulated, perhaps even using real emotions to bring Jean under his sway. Only expressing them as _he _saw fit. It reminded Raven of Xavier, even of Magneto. She'd always admired Scott as a leader, but he'd had a streak of good in him to keep him from being truly ruthless… from doing whatever it took to accomplish his goals, as Erik did. But now, watching how his combination of emotions and sheer erotic skill made Jean putty in his hands—the Phoenix herself—Raven thought that she might've misread Scott. Whatever morals he had, they clearly weren't holding him up that much.

She'd heard of his dalliance with Emma while married to Jean, how that had twisted into a relationship with Emma and then back again to estrangement and loneliness for all three. Now it seemed he'd repaired his relationship with Jean—to say the least—and without Emma sending his brains dribbling out of his ears. That was promising. Raven wondered if the man might've actually tamed them both. Handled the team's loyalty issues by simply seducing the two into being his well-satisfied concubines. _That _showed true potential. If he was willing to let go of childish notions of morality—monogamy—it could be that Scott deserved to have the support of Mystique herself thrown behind him.

At the very least, Raven thought, thrusting the vibrator up her dripping cunt, it could make for a very good fuck.

* * *

Betsy stood over Scott's naked body, looking over him as he waited patiently for her, like he knew she would come to him. Her eyes traced over the corded muscles of his body, the old scars, the strong cock—all of it making him more and more desirable to her, even the spit and cream of the other two women he'd fucked that night.

Emma laid next to him, still chained to the headboard, while Jean lay between her legs, head resting on her thigh and mouth stuffed with cum, still processing how thoroughly Scott had debased her. But somehow, Betsy found that less arousing than the sight of Scott's visor, emblem of both his control and the suppressed passion that he'd found a way to express. Emma and Jean's exhausted, lustful bodies both spoke to that. Two of the strongest women Betsy knew and one way or another, they'd been left in awe of this man.

"It looks like it's time for a rematch," Betsy said. "This time I won't hold back."

"Make your move," Scott told her. "I'm sure I can take it."

She grabbed hold of his cock, wondering if he would flinch at her tight grip on it, but Scott only smiled expectantly. With her other hand, she took hold of the bed's sheet and draped it over her shoulders as she mounted Scott, symbolically putting Jean and Emma out of mind. This was her show now.

Betsy held Scott in place as she positioned herself above him, then dropped her full weight onto his erection. It was not to be, however. Even seeing his size, she'd underestimated how big he'd truly be inside her. Scott impaled her cunt, then she hung there on top of him, gasping with erotic shock as her walls tightened around his cock, unable to take anymore.

Scott reached up and grasped her hips, effortlessly easing her upward, releasing the pressure on. her cringing inner folds. He held her like that, penetrated, but unsure if she could take more of him—the very challenge of it made her lust skyrocket, her juices running.

Scott's thumbs traipsed over her waistline, the tiny indentations where the elastic band of her underwear had gone. Almost meditatively, Betsy found herself wanting him even as she relaxed. It was all like slipping into a hot bath. He lowered her down, onto his prick, and now she was loose enough for his member to make its bruising journey into her. Betsy gulped as she felt Scott's entire ten inches go deeper and deeper inside her.

"Magnificent," Scott gasped, barely able to contain how much he enjoyed having the undersized sex of her Asian body constricting around his manhood. "You really are a good little girl… even your cunt's good… wish I could wear it around my cock every minute of the day!"

Betsy closed her eyes, Scott's cock still pushing into her cunt, his words pounding in her head even as his prick throbbed inside her. She wondered what it would be like to have his deliciously thick manhood piercing her cunt for an entire day. She didn't know if she could take it for another minute, but the idea made her more aroused, more eager to fuck him.

"Hope you're ready now," Scott said. His hands tightened on her hips. "I need all of your cunt."

In one sweeping motion—as smooth as any of the martial arts moves Betsy had practiced thousands of times—Scott rearranged them, swinging Betsy around so that he was on top of her, his brawny body pressing her down into the mattress, the sheets tangled around them both. Betsy felt the supple muscle of Emma's trapped, outstretched arm pillowing her head. She looked over and saw Emma smirking smugly at her.

"Let's see how you are at being his bitch," Emma drawled. Betsy could see snippets of her own expression in Emma's icy blue eyes and knew Emma wasn't just teasing her. With one move… barely even a thrust… Scott had dominated her. He'd dominated her ever since beating her in the sparring match. She'd been defeated from the moment she'd wanted him and that had been long before this morning.

His body hair dug into her flesh like tiny knives, all of her sensitive, tender, stripped down to raw nerve endings by the unspeakable ecstasy he was pumping into her cunt. Betsy flung her arms around Scott's back, digging her fingernails into the thick muscle. If she was to be his bitch, then Scott would know damn sure that she wanted to be.

Scott acknowledged it as a warrior: he kissed her and it shoved her head down into the crook of Emma's elbow. Emma laughed, sultry; Betsy expected to be just as amused when it was Emma's turn to play the whore. It seemed Emma thought there was something shameful about being mastered by a man this way… that she liked being shamed… but Betsy saw no dishonor in belonging to Scott. You drowned in the ocean in the same way you gave into such a man.

It was almost casual, the way Scott dominated her once again—reminded Betsy of her place with a rush of gratitude and submission on her part that was almost intoxicating. He easily unwound her arms from around his back, then pushed them down by the wrists, pinning her arms by her head as he erected himself over her. The bedsheet fell down his back and over his thrusting hips, exposing them.

"Look down," Scott told her. "Look at what you're taking."

Betsy obeyed, looking down between their bodies to watch his prick going into her. She had never seen anything so big. Her cunt looked splayed around a phallus with the width of a soda can. Inwardly, she tensed, her pleasure spiking as she realized just how deep Scott had gone into her, how he'd ruined her for other men. No wonder it felt so good. No wonder Jean and Emma would rather share him than settle for one of the countless other men who lusted after their perfect bodies. It had barely even hurt, at least compared to how good it felt, and yet surely her pussy had been changed forever by having him inside her.

With the spasms of intense sensation Betsy was feeling, her legs inevitably kicked and twisted, tangling the sheets further around both her and Scott. That didn't deter him. He hammered down into her relentlessly, proving his mastery over her sex, that there was no one else who could possibly give her pussy this battering… this perfect bliss.

"Your pussy feels good, Betsy," Scott told her, his voice thick with irony. She didn't need to look him in the eyes to know how sardonic he was being. "Nice and tight."

"Does any pussy feel loose with a cock like that?" Betsy moaned.

"No," Scott admitted. "But yours isn't trying to keep me out anymore."

From beside them, Emma smiled. She had seen how conquered Betsy was too. "It knows when it's been beaten."

Betsy ignored the jibe. As if she should be embarrassed of submitting to such a man—such a cock. "We both do. Make me come, Scott. Don't your bitches get to come?"

He grinned—kissed her on the nose in an oddly sweet gesture. Then he bit down on her neck in a final display of ownership. There was no way in hell Betsy could've held back the prodigious climax that hit her. It possessed her, turning her into a creature of raw need. She had been aroused before, but now she was out of her mind with lust—sheer, aching lust. She had to have his cum. All of it. Everything he could give.

Scott rutted into her, powering his cock into her cunt multiple times with every second, then stopped—gasped as his balls exploded. His thick seed rushed through his shaft and came spurting out into Betsy's womanhood.

"Gawwwd!" Betsy squealed, thrilled beyond words as she felt Scott shoot rope after rope of cum directly into her. Then he hoisted himself away—pulled half of his length from Betsy and let her watch as it kept pumping, his shaft throbbing with every spurt that Betsy felt inside herself. It was like thunder and lightning. She even saw the backwash of jism from her stuffed pussy. Each time Betsy saw and felt his cum entering her, she creamed on his cock, adding to the cacophony of feelings they both were experiencing. There was no denying it. She'd had multiple orgasms—a riot of them—while Scott was feeding her a single, long ejaculation. It was incredible. But it wasn't over.

Scott rested on top of Betsy's body, not that she could feel his weight. She could feel nothing but the dwindling warmth he'd filled her with and the cock losing firmness in her pussy. Otherwise, she was agape.

"Oh God… God… bloody _hell… _you really don't do things halfway, do you?" she gasped.

"For girls who deserve the very best," Jean muttered sleepily, down at Emma's lap.

"I… I… bollocks, it's almost a relief. I've always been such a fighter… so proud… but there's really no point now, is there? I'll never be able to beat _that." _Betsy grinned. "I'll just have to be the best whore I can be. When we're alone, of course."

"Of course," Scott agreed. "Betsy, you know what my secondary mutation is?"

"You have a secondary mutation?"

Then Betsy felt Scott stiffen. Felt him lengthen, harden, all inside of her. He was even getting thicker, spreading open the narrow walls of her sex. Betsy gaped, once more realizing just how big he was when erect, how much he had opened her up with his member when it was fully engorged.

"No refractory period," Scott said. "And no… shortages. I can come as much as I want. I tried it once. Jerked off to see how many times I could do it in a row. I stopped at twenty."

"T-twenty?" Betsy murmured.

"Handy power, right?" Scott asked. "Perfect for the guy who's going to breed the next generation of X-Men. No wonder Mr. Sinister's been obsessed with me all these years." He grinned. "Not to mention you."

"I wasn't… obsessed… oh God… Scott, Scott, it's… my God… it's even bigger, Scott. It's even bigger than when you put it in!"

"Think of it from my point of view," Scott teased. "I regenerate cum at something like twenty times the rate of the average man. So to my cock, it's like I haven't had sex in two years. _Hhh!"_

Betsy mewled, feeling his cock strain, feeling it pump inside her. Fresh, hot, burning hot cum. "Oooh, Scott! You're coming in me! You're coming inside me!"

"Why not? I want to breed you, Betsy. And the best way to do that is to come in you over and over again."

"_Yes!" _Betsy gasped, so excited with the realized possibilities that she almost came with every pulse of cum entering her pussy. "Oh Jesus… I'm just your… I'm your fucking cum-bucket!" she wailed, blushing as her cunt sucked at his ejaculating prick. British mind and Asian body were on the same page. They both wanted Scott to fill her to the brim. "I'm Scott Summers' _fucking _cum-bucket and he _fucked me _and he's coming inside me and _I'm _coming, _I'm coming, I love it! _Nnnh, fill me up, Scott… flood me, drown me in cum! It's beautiful! Come inside me! Come everywhere!"

His seed did fill her, then spilled out of her cunt, soaking her ass, the bed—but the picture wasn't truly complete until she came with him, for him, strong and hot and delicious, shrieking with the ecstasy of having pleased him. Her juices sprayed out, coating his groin and abs. His cum may have served as his mark on her, his occupied territory, but her cream proved she had enjoy it. Scott rubbed it into his flat stomach as Betsy writhed under him, rapidly fading from consciousness. It was like awareness was useless to her now that she'd pleased Scott.

Eyes glazed over, body a well-fucked mess, Betsy relaxed against Emma's arm. She still shook with the aftershocks of her rapture, preventing her from slipping into a truly comatose satisfaction as Jean had, but she'd experienced too many orgasms to have any energy left. Cock-drunk, heavily laden with the cum she'd so joyfully earned, Betsy was dead to the world and smiling about it.

"Poor girl," Emma cooed with mock sympathy. "She thought fighting a few ninjas was any preparation at all for taking your cock. I've had as many orgies as this mansion's had remodels, and even I'm hard-pressed to keep up with you, lover."

"Your flattery is noted," Scott said. He pulled out of Betsy, but made no move to wipe his cock off. It stayed wet with fluids, both Betsy's and his own. And Emma licked her lips. "What's your point?"

"Just that I've been a good girl this year, Santy Claus." She grinned. "Well… good enough for this team… this bed. I think it's time I get my reward."

"Like they did?" Scott asked, looking from one lover to another. Jean was drooling cum, half-asleep. Betsy's eyes flickered back in her head like she was a broken doll. He'd stimulated her cunt so heavily that trying to get to sleep now was like trying to relax while cunnilingus was performed on her.

Emma sniffed heartily. "Scott, if you can't see what a reward it is to get to be your bitch, I fear you'll never understand women. Come on now, love. I won't even mind if you leave the handcuffs on. 'Force me.' Some men like pretending I'm not a total whore."

"I'm not one of them," Scott said, reaching for the key on the nightstand. "I'm going to make you my bitch and you're going to like it _because you like it."_

"Who am I to argue with the leader of the X-Men?"

Even now, Scott made plans. He'd keep the key on a thong around his neck. It would be the only one that unlocked anything. And the next time they did something with Namor, he'd put Emma in a chastity belt that only he could unlock.

Not that he didn't trust Emma. But to paraphrase the lady herself, some women liked pretending to be total whores. Who was he not to let the White Queen have her fun?


	12. Breed Emma

Emma sighed almost pornographically as the key slid into the lock, twisting to undo it, releasing one of her cuffed hands, then the other. She moved to rub her sore wrists, but Scott stopped her. His hands coiled on her wrists, moving them to the headboard and forcing them to take, to wrap around the iron bars that had so recently imprisoned her.

Emma understood. The bondage wasn't over yet. Scott was simply removing the crutch of the handcuffs, testing the depths of her submission when she had no outside factors to keep her in line. Obediently, she locked her fingers on the bars, holding herself in place as if he hadn't released her at all. Wherever she went, whatever she did, a part of her would always be Scott's bitch. Right now, that was all of her. She was nothing else.

"Are you going to be a good girl?" Scott asked huskily, putting a fine point on his hold over her. Emma felt herself _clutch _at the man's playfully dominant words. As socially awkward as Scott could be, he truly did have a fearsome grip on psychology. It was what made him such a great leader. Or perhaps he just knew her a little too well.

Emma looked up at him, devilish mischief in her eyes. "For now, maybe."

She left unsaid _For you. _The fact that he'd made her too needful, too hot, to want to play more games or challenge his will or be the White Queen at all. She just wanted him to fuck her. She'd do anything for him to fuck her, and more than that, her usual arrogant pride didn't register an objection at all. In front of Betsy and Jean, two of her greatest rivals, she saw nothing wrong with being Scott's submissive little slut. Perhaps it was because he'd fucked the dignity right out of the two of them first. If the Phoenix and the Lady Mandarin didn't stand a chance against Scott and his _goddamn prick, _why should even Emma Frost be any different?

Emma bit her lip, giving him her spiciest look. She wouldn't make it too easy for him. Not on one level, at least. If she was going to submit to him, be conquered by him, she expected him to put all his muscle into it. She wanted all that he could give so that she could show him she could take it. And where Betsy and Jean were left silly cock-drunk sluts, she would smile at Scott with his cum in her teeth and ask for more.

Scott came up to straddle her impressive chest, his cock hard and burning hot between her tender breasts. She could feel it throbbing as it brushed against her tits. Scott smiled smugly down at her. A lesser man's prick would've been lost inside all her buxomness, but Scott ran the length of her cleavage from top to bottom, easily. If she'd wanted, Emma could've turned her head downward and licked at the engorged tip, but what she wanted was to make it a challenge for him. Her eyes drilled into his ruby quartz as if she could break through to his own gaze, see how he looked at her without needing her psychic powers to feel his emotions. And however Scott looked at her, he could see what she wanted. What she needed.

His hand slapped her across the face, leaving a red mark blazing on her cheek. Emma's hands tightened harshly on the headboard. The spasm of pain traveled through her, hitting her sex, making her clench. God help her, she wanted him inside her. She wanted Scott to strike her again while he could feel what it did to her cunt. But from the arrogant curl of his lips, it was clear he already knew. Scott grabbed her by the golden blonde hair she took such pride in and forced her face to his groin. This close, she was helpless not to _taste _his musk, as well as the distinct flavors of both Jean and Betsy. It should've been humiliating, knowing that he'd fucked them both, and it was, in the most delicious way. She remembered how they still laid on the bed with her and Scott, fucked out of their cheap whore acts, and Emma shuddered to think that it was her turn.

"Suck me, 'White Queen,'" Scott ordered her, forcing the head of his swollen cock against her equally throbbing lips. "You have to earn being bred by me."

Her cheek smarting, her pussy wet, Emma obligingly opened her mouth. Scott slid himself smoothly between her lips, his manhood so big that it raked over her teeth on both sides. Emma gagged as he forced his way deeper and deeper.

"Yeah, that's it, whore. All the way in. I know you love my cock. Just like you love having a bellyful of my cum."

"_Mmmff!" _Emma sputtered, gagging more, her throat and stomach in rebellion as his cock applied horrible pressure on her. Scott held her head tightly in place, though, working it closer and closer to his groin. Her throat would submit to him. It would open up and let him in as deep as he could go. Emma looked up at him, impressed by how callous he was, how he'd fuck her so ruthlessly even while a soothing caress down the length of her hair showed his true affection. He was ravaging her as Sebastian Shaw had never had the balls to, all while loving her in a way that Civil War reenactment psychopath wasn't capable of.

Then she felt a tongue roll between her buttocks, crossing her anus and leaving an inch in the puckered little sphincter. For a moment, she wildly thought that Scott was doing it. With all his plans and stratagems, she almost wouldn't put it past him to be able to pull such a thing off. Then she thought of Betsy, but she could still feel the weight of the Asian woman at her side, comatose from the ecstasy Scott had brought her to. So who could it—

"There!" Scott grunted, seeming to permanently stretch Emma's lips apart with the base of his cock. He held himself inside her gaping throat, then withdrew a little, only to stab savagely back into her gagging mouth. "Yeah… That's much better than listening to another sarcastic comment. Your sweet little mouth was built to hold a big cock."

Jean. It had to be Jean, tonguing the twinge in her asshole to a roaring flame. Her prodding, probing tongue sank into Emma's tight asshole, seeming to own it as much as Scott's prick owned her mouth.

How insane was it to think that even this, Emma had almost asked for—practically dared Scott to do such a thing? In so many circumstances just like this one, she would have happily slapped a man in the face if not broken his nose, telling him to go straight to hell, and that wasn't even beginning to consider what she might do with her powers. But it was Scott Summers. And he had tied her down, ravaged her, made her the kind of defenseless woman that Emma had happily dominated when she wore the corset and furs.

Her cunt throbbed suddenly at the reversal, seizing with raw need to match the pleasure in her tongued ass and the submission in her cocked mouth.

Emma wasn't tied down, but her hands were strangling the headboard bars, holding her in place so stridently that it would've been a relief to have the handcuffs doing it for her.

An orgasm built inside her, constricting her orifices around the penetrations, both real and unreal. God, she so desperately wished someone were fucking her pussy. Maybe Betsy, with a finger or a tongue or a _fist, _making her airtight, making her everyone's bitch…

"_Aaaghh!" _Emma screamed, but even that wasn't allowed, she could only gulp and gape and gag, her throat helplessly sucking at Scott's member, her body in obedience no matter how her mind wandered.

"That's a good White Queen," Scott mused condescendingly, rutting forward, his iron-hard stomach meeting her forehead. "Take it all the way in. Jesus, I love what a slut you are. I don't even have to break you in. I just put my prick in your mouth and that cocksucker inside you takes over."

Emma's orgasm exploded in her so rapidly that she briefly lost connection with reality. It subsided almost as quickly, forcing her back to being throated and tongued _and so damnably empty in her cunt! _She lay there gasping, nothing more than a mouth for Scott to fuck, and actually wished he was dominating her more. A cocksleeve and not just a cum dumpster.

"Enjoying yourself, are we?" Scott growled, his hands tightening on Emma's skull. He hammered her splayed mouth savagely into his erection. "So am I."

_You promised you would breed me, you bastard! _Emma thought in a rage, suspended between Scott fucking her throat and Betsy tonguing her ass. _Don't you dare waste that cum in my mouth! But if you do—oooh—I won't swallow, I won't take a single drop—condescending prick!_

"That's it, cocksucker. You've got me nice and close. Now for your reward," Scott growled. "You're going to love it. Jean and Betsy have had their fill, now it's your turn."

She could hardly wait for him to come. She wouldn't accept his cum as readily as she had his dick, that was for sure. She'd spit it out right in front of him…

"Ready?" Scott asked, reaching down to caress her gorgeously sculpted face, even contorted as it was by being stuffed with his full erection. He felt himself clench, his cum boiling in his balls, filling his swelling shaft. "Ready to taste what I've been pumping inside you all day?"

_Do it, you bastard, blow your load, see exactly what I do with it! How dare you think to breed someone else before you do me? No one else gets their cunt wet before I do, not Jean, not Betsy, no one! Try it, motherfucker, I can't wait!_

Emma only wished she didn't have the inhibitor collar on so she could teep him every word.

"Take it, bitch!" Scott ordered vehemently, feeling his balls throb as they only did for Emma, the slut, the whore, the mistress, and the woman who truly understood the darker parts of him, welcoming however he chose to use her. "Damn you, Emma, take it all!"

_Bring it on, see if I swallow any of it!_

She could taste his cum, his precum almost filling her mouth as it foamed out of him, and as though it were some aphrodisiac, her pussy clenched, heat spreading outward from it, clawing through her body like rising flames. The sensations swept upward, to mix with the taste of him.

"Here it is!" Scott grunted, impaling her mouth as his cockhead burst with cum.

_You'd better not hold anything back, you dirty bastard!_

She gulped down his cum like each dose was life itself, her belly pleading for more even as she swallowed and swallowed. "_Mmmph!" _she gurgled, headbutting his gut in her attempt to force his cock deeper down her gullet, as if she could get her lips to his balls and milk them directly.

"Oh—yeah!" Scott groaned, holding her head down against the pillow with both hands as he pumped his hips against her face, making it clear he was fucking her—she was just taking it. "You don't spill a drop, Emma… That's what makes you the best."

At that moment, Emma didn't care if he never bred her. Nothing mattered but the delicious taste he filled her mouth with, how her pussy burst again and again with each swallow she got of it, thundering convulsions of pure rapture filling her as surely as his cum was.

Scott crushed all the weight of his muscular body into her mouth, finishing his release seemingly right into her stomach. He held himself down her throat for a few moments, then rolled off her, gasping for air, his cock slipping out of her lips to lie against her cheek. Emma moaned, gratified that she had taken enough to knock the wind out of him, and she lapped at his subsiding erection, collecting some of the stray cum that hadn't made it down her throat.

"_Mmmmm," _she murmured, eyes blissfully shut, the taste of his cream going on and on in the darkness of her satiated mind.

Then Betsy's tongue slithered between her buttocks, finding her anus, delving inside with the pointed tip. Emma groaned and, lying on her side, raised her topmost leg into the air like she was performing her old strip routine, opening her buttocks to give Betsy more room. Betsy sucked at her anus, tongue piercing the sweltering hole, almond eyes looking over Emma's juicy ass at Scott and Jean while she lashed her tongue hungrily inside Emma's rectum, as if searching for any cum Scott might've deposited in it lately.

Emma bit down on Scott's cock and his growing hardness defied the tightness of her jaw, spreading her lips wider and wider as he grew erect. Betsy was eating her ass, making her more of a wanton slut than ever, and Emma loved it. She took hold of Scott's balls and squeezed them threateningly.

"She's gonna make me come, Scott. You're not going to let her make me come without you, are you? You're going to fuck me and come in me and breed me like you promised…" The more Emma thought about the idea, the more it turned her on. Imagine, Storm and Kitty and all the other X-Men who'd seen her as such a whore for sharing Scott's bed, like she was some seductress unworthy of their Boy Scout troop leader, suddenly seeing her toting around a belly swollen with his child…

Scott gripped his firming cock and slapped her with it, giving Emma a little jolt of pain to go with the pleasure of Betsy's anal tonguing. "Quiet," he said dangerously, sliding down the bed, his erection brushing against Emma's tits, her belly, her thighs as he took up position on the other side of her from Betsy and that wonderful tongue. "I could always come in your mouth again. You know you'd swallow."

Emma pinched her lips together primly and turned away. She did know, but what was worse was how certain he was of it. Her dirty bastard boyfriend knew her too damn well.

She heard Betsy purr, looked down. Scott was reaching around her womanly hips, petting Betsy's pretentiously purple hair, approving of her efforts as she licked out the orifice opposite the one he was going to concern himself with. Then he tightened his grip, pulling her and Emma and himself together in one big sandwich. Emma felt herself mewl. As long as she was in the middle…

His cockhead pushed aside the swollen lips of her entrance. Emma flinched. She was already raw from how much she'd taken, yet sensitive from how long she'd been tempted. It would hurt as much as she wanted it to hurt. And she didn't need her telepathy or even to look Scott in the eyes to know that he would claim her hard, savagely. And people thought Wolverine was the wild one. She clenched, fear coursing through her veins indistinguishable from excitement.

Emma buried her face in Scott's hairy chest. "I'm your bitch," she panted. "Prove it."

"Yes," he said simply, then grunted as he forced his length inside of her. "Take it, you filthy whore! _Unh! _Show me what you're good for!"

Painful lightning shot through Emma as she felt his enormous length grind into her pussy. She writhed about, almost losing Betsy's lapping tongue from between her asscheeks, but it was useless to resist. Scott was going into her whether she liked it or not. She wore a jubilant grin as she took six inches, with more to come. She had already come from it, climaxed despite and because of the pain, and she loved Scott for proving what a whore she was, for proving she was _his _whore.

She opened her mouth to cry out in agony that might've been ecstasy, but Scott's mouth crushed against hers, his hands caressing her pristine face, now as flushed and as contorted with strain as it had ever been when she'd throated him. Her eyes rolled around in her head, then she inhaled until her lungs were fit to burst.

"_Ohhh!" _she gasped, able to feel both Scott's cock and Betsy's tongue inside her at once like they were competing for the same space. "You're killing me!"

"You're an X-Man," Scott told her smugly. "You'll come back."

He reached down to grasp Betsy's head, as tightly as he'd held Emma's while he was fucking her throat, and then he rolled on top of both of them, fucking down into Emma who in turn was driven down onto Betsy's tongue. Faster and faster he pistoned into her, thrusting and withdrawing with his thick, hard-beating erection.

Betsy could feel it practically in her mouth, through the folds of Emma's pussy and the walls of her rectum, as she herself sucked and slurped at Emma's asshole, trying to match Scott's jackhammering plunges. Emma's juices flowed from her, practically flew as Scott pulled his scorching erection out, only to piston it back inside, and as Betsy ate Emma's ass, she happily ran her hands through the rivers of mingled fluids, Scott's and Emma's, lathering them down to her own chest and rubbing them into her breasts in masturbatory glee.

Her hands went lower, reaching her own simmering womanhood, and she jabbed her fingers into herself as her tongue dug into Emma's asshole, trying to force her upward, drive the blonde to impale herself even more fully on Scott's prick, to make up for how Betsy was forced to use only her fingers. But not for long. She could feel Scott and Emma's growing ecstasy, ramping up in both of them like they were trying to psychically shout each other down. When they reached completion, she would ignite her psychic knife inside her sex. Join them in total ecstasy.

"Ready to be a mom?" Scott asked, fucking into Emma with all of his flagging strength, pumping into her so hard she thought his enormous manhood would travel all the way through her and end up in Betsy's mouth.

Emma could not answer. A concussive series of orgasm had long since left her mouth gaping open, good only for letting the drool drain down her chin.

The muscular delta of Scott's pelvis snapped convulsively against her own belly with a series of smacks that Emma's best paddle would be hard-pressed to match, and then a great flood of his seed, thick and hot, burst into the clasping suckle of her pussy, filling her trembling sex to the brim, seeming to spread her weakly quivering thighs with sheer volume.

His cum was scorching, but Emma could still feel the blowtorch of his ejaculations as he still came more and more. It was like he was determined to mate her, pouring his essence into her womb until it was totally saturated, as he would use his optic blast to burn an enemy down to the last atom. Her belly bulged like she was pregnant already.

"_Hnnn," _Scott gasped out. "Nice cunt." Emma didn't know if he was referring to her or her pussy, but he was right on both counts.

Scott let out one last satisfied sigh of relief as he pulled out of what remained of the tightness of Emma's cunt. Her body was still lustful where Emma's mind was totally overwhelmed; her pussy only reluctantly released its grip on his half-hard cock. He came out of her with a wet sucking sound, and in his place was a chilling rush of air against her tender opening, quick and welcome, then the feel of her ruined pussy releasing all the cum it couldn't hold. Betsy nestled her head against Emma's groin and let it fall over her face like some fucked-up beauty mask while Emma lay there, exhausted, tired, relaxed—happy.

Scott undid the inhibitor collar and took it off Emma, letting her feel the voyeuristic glee of Jean, the almost equal autoerotic pleasure of Betsy (she hadn't needed her psychic knife to come when she'd felt Scott's ejaculation right through Emma's body), and his own reassuring love and affection, almost sappy after how masterfully he'd dominated her. It almost made her want to put the collar back on, but while she liked being fucked by the monster—Cyclops, mutant terrorist—she lived for being loved by the man.

_By the way, _Scott teeped to her, _if you're going to bear my child, we had better get married._

Emma snorted with laughter. Marriage. The prospect had once seemed quaintly domestic. Now, knowing what it was to be Scott's woman, it seemed kinky as hell. Imagine, getting up on a stage and admitting you were going to honor and obey a man in front of all his friends and family. If only she could mention the spankings… _Yes, dear, _she teeped back. _As long as you can find a ring that meets my standards._

_I do love a challenge. _

Scott rolled off of Emma's body, landing between her and Jean. The redhead had long since recovered. While Emma was unable to move, Jean cuddled up to Scott's chiseled body, patting the slowing heartbeat in his broad chest like she was easing it down from the rush of pushing Emma to her limits.

"Enjoy the show?" Scott asked her.

"Anything that can shut Emma up for a moment," she replied. "But now that you're done, maybe I can get some sleep."

"Good idea," Scott said. "If I breed you on the same night as Emma, that'll make birthdays very complicated."

"So you're going to make me wait a month?" Jean teasingly pouted.

"No, he'll just do anal," Emma jibed, finally able to move at least enough to beach herself on the other side of Scott's muscular frame. Her blonde head lying on the pec opposite Jean. "A month of being sodomized might just be enough to loosen you up, Jean."

"You know when people call you a tightass, that's not what they mean, right?"

"Ladies, ladies, how can you possibly have enough energy left to—" Scott broke off, looking down to see that Betsy had rearranged herself too. Lying between his legs, her head in his lap, lazily sucking at his limp manhood. He had to admit, it was a hygienic feeling. As long as he couldn't shower…

Emma laughed. "There's a girl with the right idea. Get in line at the head of the queue for tomorrow morning."

"I think I prefer Scott's arms around me," Jean said, using a little telekinetic nudge to bring Scott's hand under her body and over her hip.

"Well, Scott has two arms," Emma countered, wrapping herself in Scott's other arm like it was a mink stole.

"If only he had two of everything."

"Hey," Scott said, "is that an eye crack?"

_Can the jokes and wish us goodnight, _Betsy teeped, nursing on his member as tenderly as anyone ever had a bottle.

* * *

**A. Tell Jean you love her.**

**B. Tell Betsy she was worth the wait.**

**C. Tell Emma she's the best fuck you've ever had.**

**Go to my site and vote now.**


	13. Tell Jean You Love Her

Jean and Emma pressed into Scott's sides like they were two growling dogs, trying to get at each other through the fence of his body. Scott ran one hand down Jean's back, feeling out the swell where her trim waist became generous hips, a surprisingly rounded ass, and he patted it a little chidingly.

"I love you," he told her, and felt Jean settle, nuzzling her lips along the side of his unshaven jaw.

_I could tell, _she teeped back. _It's weird how having a foursome brings that into such sharp relief. When you were with me, you were _only _thinking of me. And only of Emma when you were with Emma. Even Betsy got your undivided attention._

Scott's other hand caressed Emma's bare, supplely muscled arm, then fingered aside the curtain of her golden hair to caress her delicate jaw—finally doing no more than petting her luscious hair. "I love fucking you," he told her, and Emma's lips quirked in acknowledgment of the unsentimental sentiment.

"Why wouldn't you?" she whispered into his chest, still a bit too dazed to be a proper bitch.

Scott looked down to where Jean's telekinesis had drawn the bedsheets over all four of them, leaving a hillock where Betsy's body laid between his legs. She held his cock in her mouth, but was too tired to give it a work-out besides the simple pleasure of having it inside those cherry blossom lips of hers. Having the feel of it but not the sight made Scott wish he'd gone along with one of Emma's home improvement ideas: transparent bedsheets.

"Betsy…" he began and Betsy's head raised attentively, but before he could continue, Emma reached down to palm the ninja's cranium and force her back down on Scott's manhood.

"Keep sucking," she interrupted. Then Scott felt Jean reaching under the sheet as well, taking hold of his balls. She massaged them gently as Betsy sucked.

"Welcome to the show, I guess," Scott finished lamely, speech soon beyond him as the only sound in the room became the slurping of Betsy's mouth.

Scott mumbled words of encouragement as sleep took him, his prick gradually stiffening into Betsy's mouth. Betsy would soon lose the awareness to do anything about it, but she felt warmly contented with the constant, throbbing reminder that he was hers. And, as proven by Emma's hand holding her down on his engorged erection, she was his as well.

* * *

Betsy came awake with the sour, satisfying taste of Scott's member permeating her mouth. She smiled as she came off of it to clear her throat. She'd actually slept the whole night with him in her mouth, keeping Scott at a steady ebb that even now was bloated and swaying. She didn't know if that was a testament to her skill or Scott's secondary mutation stamina.

Jean and Emma were gone, leaving only Scott tangled in the bedsheets. Betsy used their isolation to simply look at the sleeping Scott. The red morning sun and the tranquil slumber he'd enjoyed worked to smooth out the tension that Scott usually carried. At that moment, in all but his concealed eyes, Betsy could see pure beauty in Scott. The dimpled chin, the broad jaw, the perfect spray of hair. Not so weathered anymore, not so damaged, but the young man that had occupied her thoughts, filled her fantasies, driven her to temptation as she'd tried to tempt him to desire. Sure, maybe she'd been a slut, throwing herself at a married man the way she had… but her eyes moved down, looking at the hard broad chest, the strong arms, the athletic legs, and the massive cock she implicitly trusted to breed her. How could she not be a slut for all that?

Betsy lay her head down against one of his firm thighs, softly, not wanting to disturb him. His half-hard prick rested on his other thigh. It looked lovely lying there. In the hazy, early morning sun she saw a thin trail of glistening precum oozing from the tip and marking his inner thigh.

Betsy licked her lips. She might've gone to sleep with that taste, but she still found herself hungrily aroused by its memory. And Scott seemed like the early riser type anyway, no matter how they'd tried to wear him out. Ducking her head between his legs, she gently ran her tongue up his hairy thigh, lapping up the precum that had spilled out of him. Then she turned her attention to the dusky knob of his cockhead. She kissed it softly, running her tongue over the wrinkled skin of his collar, and felt him throb against her lips in reaction. She blew a cool stream of air over Scott's glans, thrilling at how it visibly pulsed in awakening.

Scott murmured sleepily and Betsy took his growing erection into her mouth, sucking it all the way to the back of her throat. His cock tasted wonderful, and she only liked its taste more as her tongue massaged Scott lovingly.

Scott reached down to tangle his hands in her raven hair, both hands. Betsy moaned around his erection, remembering how he'd gone to sleep clutching Jean and Emma while she kept a death grip on his manhood to remind him she was one of his MILFs too. Now they were alone. She didn't intend to make him beat her in a sparring match again to get into her pants.

Groaning up from unconsciousness, summoned by how Betsy faithfully nursed at his cock, Scott opened his eyes, the dull ruby quartz of his visor now alive with the glow of the optic blast it contained. For a moment, he looked down at Betsy in confusion, visor dimming as he blinked blearily, trying to discern the nature of the silky hair he held in his hands.

"I thought I was dreaming," Scott said fuzzily, his voice slurred from sleep.

Nipping one last time at his cockhead, Betsy came up to spoon with him: head on his chest, arms around him, legs tangled with his. But she was in too much of a mood just to cuddle. She kissed his nipple, rubbed the growing thickness of his prick.

"There's no way you can have dreams as good as I am, love."

"No," Scott admitted. "But not having any nightmares and then waking up to this—that's the best night's sleep I've had in a while. Where're the others?"

Betsy's expression almost flickered into a pout, but then she reminded herself who she was dealing with. Of course, with Scott, the team would come first. She reached out with her psi-powers. "They're in the kitchen, making us breakfast." _Care to work up an appetite? _She added telepathically as she occupied her lips by sucking his nipple.

"_Emma's _making breakfast?" Scott asked, and trained his gaze on the door to the kitchen.

He was no psychic, but he'd picked up a few things after years of being passed around different telepaths like a collection plate. He could tell there was a _silence _coming from the kitchen, like a vacuum of sound, an absence of the physical world that spoke to deep communication on the psychic realm. He could only assume Jean and Emma were getting into it. And considering that one of them could eat suns on a bad day, he should probably put a stop to that.

"So you've never dreamed about me?" Betsy asked, moving up to straddle him. "Even back in the day when I was rubbing up against you like a cat in heat?"

"I didn't say I'd never dreamt of you," Scott said evasively.

"Did you ever dream about my mouth wrapped around your cock all night long?"

"A few times," Scott said uneasily, as if it might still give offense to Jean to catch him thinking of a woman outside their marriage. It would take some getting used to, their marriage suddenly having so much less 'outside'.

"What else did you dream about?" Betsy asked, dipping her hips so that her pubis brushed against the tip of his erect cock. Scott gasped.

Then again, both Jean and Emma were grown women. Maybe he should leave them alone to work out whatever their issue was amongst themselves. Part of being team leader was knowing where he was needed and where he needed to delegate—and clearly, at the moment, Betsy wanted his undivided attention.

A. Stay with Betsy

B. Interrupt Jean and Emma


	14. Stay With Betsy

"I dream about your tits," Scott said, and saw Betsy blush at his coarse words. Still the English Rose, no matter what her body.

"Do you dream about sucking them?" She asked, bending over Scott so that one large breast hung near his mouth. "If you're going to breed me, I'll need some real experience having my tits sucked…"

Scott held himself carefully still as Betsy lowered her breast to his mouth. As her nipple brushed against his lips, he kissed and licked at it. She lowered it further. He sucked it into his mouth and as Betsy began to moan, he moved his hand to her other breast. The nipple in his mouth grew hard and engorged, while the nipple he pinched between his fingers was just as eager. All of Betsy was thrilled by the pleasure of Scott's lips and tongue at her breast. Now both hands crushed her swollen cleavage, fingers digging deep into the tender flesh while his mouth worked hard at the nipple until Betsy wanted to weep from the pleasure of it.

"Yesss, love," she moaned. "Suck my knockers. Suck and bite them. I like a little rough trade, Scott. Show me what you've wanted to do to these nipples since the first time you saw them poking through my costume."

His eyes literally flaring, Scott caught one of her nipples between his teeth and pulled at it fiercely. His tongue lashed at the sensitive nub while he gnawed it, the little jagged pains somehow helping Betsy to go mad with pleasure. Her pussy squeezed and throbbed, feeling so wet that even Scott's massive erection would have to slip right in.

"I have to have your prick, Scott," Betsy sighed, running her hands desperately through his brown hair. "Do you want your cock inside me? Wanna roger me?"

Scott practically _growled _through the teat stuffed in his mouth. His hands moved down to the toned thighs he'd been staring at forever, emphasized as they were by her long stockings, her pointless straps, and he did what he'd always wanted to do. His callused fingers worked into her dripping pussy lips, massaging the clenched folds until they were deep inside Betsy's cunt.

"Oh bloody hell," Betsy gasped. "Oh Lord—you're fucking me. Your fingers… making me come with your fingers…" Scott bit down on her nipple, hard, and Betsy cried out so hard that drool ran down her chin. "Oh _fuuuuck!"_

Scott moved his hand, slapping it down on Betsy's pert ass so she could feel her own wetness on her flesh. Another thing he'd always wanted to do, molding his hand to the voluptuous ass she always showed off, squeezing and caressing. It was impossible to get his fill, not of an ass so perfect that she could have it on display all day and still leave him wanting more, but he would help himself as much as he liked. Just with her eyes, Betsy was begging him to use her to his heart's content.

"Do you want my prick?" Scott asked her, and absurdly saw her reddened face blush, as though she were getting more turned on by him talking dirty to her than she'd gotten with his fingers stroking inside her. "Take it. Take my cock. It's all yours, Betsy. Show me what you do with it when you don't have to share."

Betsy couldn't help herself. Her mind filled with the déclassé, with lapdancers and strip clubs, but she still spread her legs and splayed herself on Scott's lap, rubbing herself along the ridge of his cock as her weight pressed it flat against his belly. She nearly leapt from the bed when she first touched her sensitive slit to the underside of his manhood. The heat of his member burned into her wetness, her pussy, until all of her was quivering for more, to have him inside her as his fingers had teased her.

"I've got to have it, Scott," she moaned, raising slightly and gratified to find Scott's cock bob up into the air and his big hands wrap around it, guiding it between her twitching lips. She knew what a slut this made her—she couldn't even blame the peer pressure of Jean and Emma—but far better to be Scott's slut than a lady anywhere else. "I've got to be yours."

Bringing herself down slowly on the impalement Scott offered, Betsy closed her eyes and sighed, feeling him spread her, push into her, enter her depths.

_Oh yes, _Betsy thought, afraid to breathe or speak for fear of destroying this fragile connection, yet unable to stop herself from moaning as he took her, had her, as she was his. It felt so frail, like a dream she could wake from at any moment, but only because she'd waited for it so long, anticipated it so long.

Betsy had never realized how much unfinished business she had with Scott. How much she wanted him. How real and forceful her desire for him still was. She'd made herself a whore for him and he was rewarding her for it, but it wasn't seedy. It was almost too beautiful to be true.

She lowered herself down the shaft of his swollen erection, feeling the heat of his manhood all along her wet, trembling walls. The pain mounted. She didn't know how she was taking so much of him, how he could fit when her body was so small and fragile. But Scott knew just how to feed it to her, a little at a time, his hands on her hips, steadying her and making sure she took him slow and steady.

Finally, he was all the way in her, buried so deep inside her that she could feel his presence in her belly while his wiry pubic hairs tickled her gaping labia. Betsy couldn't believe he was touching so much of her at once. She looked down and saw her pubis bulging where even her Amazonian body was barely enough to contain him.

"God, Scott… God," Betsy moaned. "I'm such a tart… a fucking slag…"

Usually here she would lower herself down upon her lover, swaying so that her breasts rolled over his chest, exciting him and teasing him before she took her ride to a full gallop. But with the way Scott was impaling her, she didn't want to move. It was already strenuously tense just holding him inside her; she could feel the ecstasy of it in every little shift, full of friction, pulling at her mind like madness. If she wasn't careful, she'd become a chippy speaking in tongues while wrapped around his prick, even though she was on top.

Instead, she reached down to his hands and brought them up to rub against her cleavage. Doing it for him brought an autoerotic verve to the act. Her fingers linked with his upon her breasts and it was like she was only touching herself, masturbating with his help, while his cock filled her like a sex toy. Though no toy could ever dominate her the way his wedding tackle had, consuming her thoughts and sensations until it felt like she was meant only to provide a hole for it to push into.

"Oh, Scott—I really do have fabulous taste in men," she sighed. "That cock feels so good… so long and thick… I feel as if it's never going to come out of me…"

Scott twisted her nipples, altering the alchemy that was consuming her body. With that little pain _there, _the pain she felt in her stretched pussy receded into the background, letting in a flood of pleasure. Betsy moaned. She felt herself swell, then _release, _ejaculating a stream of her juices onto Scott's belly.

"_Hhhaa!" _she gasped as torment and relief hit her in almost the same instant, her orgasm almost too painful to bear, yet she wanted it to go on and on.

Scott sat up, holding Betsy in his lap, wrapping his arms around her. She was nearly numb now, her cunt radiating soft pleasure, the ache still lessening as he held her, caressed her, soothed her. He lowered his head to chest, mouth licking and sucking at her breasts. The pleasure buried the intense pain and replaced it with pure contentment. And that barely had a chance to get ahold of her before her pussy was clenching and twitching again, wanting more. No fucking wonder Jean and Emma had fought over him so hard. After all his planning for dozens of X-Men and hundreds of other variables, figuring out how to reduce a woman to an orgasmic mess was veritable child's play.

"Take it," Scott husked, his hot breath pouring between Betsy's cleavage, bringing her alive after her last climax had nearly killed her. "You want it, Betsy. Take it. Be the slut you've always wanted to be—the slut you dressed up as—the dirty little whore I've wanted to fuck for years."

Moaning at his very words, Betsy gingerly began to rock back and forth, swaying on Scott's cock as if she were riding a rocking horse. Back and forth, his prick rolled inside of Betsy, his knob moving through the depths of her womanhood and leaving nothing untouched.

"Suck my tits," Betsy gasped, wrapping her arms around Scott's head and holding him close as she rode his hot shaft. "Suck them while I fuck myself on your sweet prick!"

His hands pressed into Betsy's back, Scott bit into her breasts. He softly growled as Betsy moved even more violently on his cock, her hips rutting against Scott with jostling force. She didn't know if she was doing it because the pain of being stretched was lessening or because she was trying to recapture its potency by wrecking herself even harder on his manhood.

_Ghh! _Scott! My God!" Betsy gasped, kissing at Scott's scalp through his hair and around the edges of his visor. "I keep coming… and coming… and it just won't stop!" She had to freeze then—suspended between pain and pleasure, everything so tight, so taut, and then she was climaxing, _gushing, _the pressure slipping out of her to cover Scott's abs.

"It's because I want you to," Scott said, easing her through it, petting her hair, kissing the side of her face. "Jean's my wife. Emma's my mistress. You're just _mine. _I own you and I want you to come. Come for me, Betsy."

He pumped his hips, his motionless cock suddenly thrusting inside her, and Betsy screamed without sound as she bounced on his lap. _Jesus fucking Christ! _she thought as she settled on top of his cock again, desperately gasping for air. He did it again, and again, knowing just how to lift her up and down on his erection so that she was balanced between excruciating pain and the thunderous releases that kept the hurt at bay. She heard the panting grunts she herself was making and thought how much she sounded like a bitch in heat, a mare being thoroughly rogered.

_It's so good, _she heard herself say somewhere in the back of her mind. _His cock is just too bloody good._

Wave after exquisite wave of sensation broke over Betsy, neither pain nor pleasure, only _more. _With each rocking of Scott's pelvis, she pitched up and down on his erection, coming again. There was no end in sight. No sooner would she feel one orgasm dying away then there would be more racking convulsions in the depths of her sex. Her lust-fevered mind swam and went black. There was nothing in the whole of her world but the need to keep going.

_I could die of ecstasy, _Betsy thought in a rare moment of lucidity, without enough consciousness to care one way or another. She would keep fucking him until her heart gave out, until he'd ground her to dust with his thrusting cock.

Suddenly, she felt Scott in motion, her own body borne against his as if she were weightless. He swiveled his legs over the side of the bed, stood up, carried their combined weight to the nearest wall, and then Betsy was pinned against it, held squarely in place as Scott rammed himself into her. Their bodies crashed together, flesh wetly slapping against flesh, Scott's skin drenched in sweat as it rubbed against her, Betsy feeling her cream roll down her legs as she came helplessly. _His, _she thought almost religiously, _HIS._

"I want you full, Betsy," Scott grunted as he rutted into her again and again, feeding her orgasmic pleasure until it was nearly continuous, separated only by the jagged peaks of his thrusts. "I wanna come."

Betsy was far beyond speech at the moment, but her mind screamed at his words. _Come inside me, Scott! Fill my belly! Breed me like you did the others! I'll give you strong children! I'll be your whore!"_

"Can't believe I waited so long for this!" Scott gasped out, pumping into her faster, faster, the wall creaking behind her, plaster cracking. Betsy knew he still was holding back, wasn't using his full strength for fear of breaking her, but her mind was still shattering far ahead of the wall. "Oh yeah, oh Betsy, your cunt feels so _good!"_

He bellowed as his cum exploded from his plunging cockhead, ropey wads of it spewing all over the walls of Betsy's sex. Betsy's eyes rolled back in her head feeling it inundate her pussy, thick and viscous, burning with heat that made Betsy feel like her belly was on fire.

"Yes! Oh God, _yessss!" _Betsy cried. A blast of rapture unlike anything she had ever experienced crashed over her, almost making her pass out with its sheer force. It was a wall of sensation that made all her other pleasures seem trifling in comparison.

Desperately, Betsy pulled Scott closer to her, even managing to lift her limp legs and wrap them around his hips. She _needed _him inside her as he spurted his cum, each ejaculation she felt seeming to explode her consciousness all over again. Every rope of cum he launched into her depths made her feel a racking jolt of heat, so hot that she felt it from her core to her furthest extremity. It was like each dose of his seed was her first orgasm, her first feeling of a prick entering her body.

_This is impossible, _the small remnant of Betsy that was still capable of thought said. She drooled, her lungs pumping for air, her heart racing, but she was only dimly aware of her adrenaline high when the flood of cum filling her womanhood occupied all of her senses. _I'm being fucked through a wall by another woman's husband, I'm hoping to be impregnated by him, and I'd only be the second woman he's done that to in twenty-four hours—and Emma isn't his wife either!_

Not that it mattered. Nothing else mattered, because nothing could have the kind of effect on her that Scott did. She could try to justify it all she liked: romance, soulmates, even reversing the mutant birthing crisis. But when it came right down to it, she wanted to be Scott's whore and she enjoyed it like nothing else.

"Mine," Scott husked in her ear, bringing another of her endless orgasms through her body. "My whore."

Finally his cock emptied, even grew a little limp, leaving her with only a massive feeling of fullness. An eternity after that, her own orgasm died away. It'd been the only thing keeping her up. Betsy slumped in exhaustion down the wall until she was level with Scott's loins, staring blankly at his dangling manhood and his powerful legs. The hairs on his thighs were glossy wet, as were the coarse hairs that darkened his belly. She'd come all over him and he'd returned the favor, filling her relentlessly with enough seed to make a score of children for him.

"Jesus Christ, Betsy." Scott leaned against the wall over her, his hands outstretched to catch himself as if he were feeling out the hairline cracks they'd left in the plaster. "And I thought I could handle all three of you. You alone just about killed me."

"Barely," Betsy purred, summoning all her strength, all her will, to animate herself for the few motions it took to move her slack body against Scott's leg. She cuddled warmly against it, feeling his sweat and her own juices as she rubbed her face against his muscular thigh. "I need to redouble my training. Taking down a Sentinel is easy compared to riding your todger."

"The Sentinel's less motivated," Scott said, reaching down to run his hand through her purple hair one last time.

Betsy moaned, feeling his excess semen oozing lovingly out of her splayed cunt. They'd managed to avoid drenching the bedspread, which was beyond repair anyway, and now the carpet was collateral damage too. She'd have to ask Emma for some interior decorating tips. If anyone knew how to hold an orgy while maintaining chic furnishings, it'd be her.

"Guess you have to check on Jean and Emma," she sighed.

"Guess so," Scott said. "But not yet."

He picked her up, with what strength Betsy didn't know. From what little conscious control she retained over her telepathy after that apocalypse of sensation, she could tell he was utterly exhausted, but quickly getting a second wind. He carried her to the bed, set her down on the pillows, and pulled the sheets over her body—naked, shuddering, bruised, and worn out. Shockingly gentlemanly, considering what a whore he'd turned her into. Or at least, revealed her to be. This was what she'd hungered for all those years ago when she'd tried to seduce him away from Jean—she'd had no idea what she was getting herself into.

More of his cum ran out of her, destroying the sheets anyway, though that fact faded along with many others that couldn't hold her attention in this new life she'd started. Lofty goals and heroic quests seemed unimportant next to curling up against Scott's firm body, the feel and warmth of their lovemaking lingering in her senses to bring her sweet dreams. It was a shame she had to settle for holding a pillow instead of him. Next time, she'd wear him out far more.

**A. Find out what happened with Jean and Emma**

**B. Check in on Mystique**


	15. Find out what happened to Jean and Emma

Jean looped the apron around her neck and tied it behind her waist. She wore nothing else. It covered her full breasts and her sex, naturally enough, but let her wide ass spread out below the apron strings. She couldn't wait for Scott to walk into the kitchen and see it. She knew that she was a voluptuous woman, not like tall, slender Emma, with her svelte hips, her tight ass, and then those oversized fake tits as big as her head. But men liked a fat ass. PAWG, that's what some of the newer students called her. Jean just imagined Scott walking in on her and giving her well-rounded booty the affectionate smack that a husband should give his wife. She turned on the stove, set a pan full of cooking oil on the open flame, and let it heat up as she got the eggs.

The refrigerator door was already open. Jean was startled when it suddenly shut, revealing Emma there. All Emma wore was a set of dark stockings, the rest of her bare body on full display. Jean couldn't remember if Emma had worn those to bed or if she'd decided they would be the only thing she wore that morning—some sleazy echo of what Jean was trying to do with the apron. At any rate, Emma held a popsicle, the plastic-wrapped length of frozen dessert between her bare, admittedly fantastic breasts.

"Oh, hi Jean," she said, as if somehow she hadn't managed to notice Jean hustling around the kitchen, wearing next to nothing. She closed the refrigerator door.

"Good morning." Jean rolled her eyes as she opened the refrigerator again, Emma opening up the popsicle and dropping its plastic in the waste bin. _Horrible for the environment, _Jean thought uncharitably, not bothering to shield her surface thoughts. She grabbed up a handful of eggs and a bag of shredded cheese.

"Breakfast for the sheik and the rest of the harem?" Emma asked. "It's amazing how domestic you can make the aftermath of a foursome. Not even any codeine, just a balanced breakfast…"

"I don't think Scott will be too bored," Jean said as she walked to the stove, swaying her hips, showing off the firm yet girthy ass that would be tempting Scott just as well as the White Queen and any of her skanky outfits. _Let's see you get that implanted into your cheap slut body._

"Oh, I'd never go for butt implants. I enjoy being spanked too much."

"I suppose if you'd wanted to avoid punishment, you wouldn't have been a supervillain."

"You never can tell, Jean darling. You apparently want to have an active sex life, yet you dress up in costumes with no femininity whatsoever. Teenagers normally don't have very much of a fashion sense, but that green dress you used to wear at least let people know you have all the right parts. Now you have that red and blue thing that makes you look like you're going into space…"

Jean turned to look at Emma, who was tapping the unwrapped popsicle against her full lips, nonchalantly showing off all of her perfect body. Creamy skin, enormous breasts, surgically precise features. With Jean watching, she ran the popsicle along her mouth, dragging her tongue over it, then doing another pass with her lips pressed in nipping kisses along its length, staining her mouth with its fruity meltwater. The blue tinge it gave her lips reminded Jean of her frosty White Queen look.

"I thought you didn't like giving blowjobs," Jean said, turning back to crack the eggs into the skillet. "Could've fooled me."

Emma's lips smacked as she suckled at the popsicle, slurping up its taste with autoerotic pleasure. "I was a stripper, Jean. Of course I don't mind giving blowjobs." She gulped the popsicle into her hot little mouth, pulling her lips down its length, letting them pop off the rounded tip. "But I don't want to offer. I want Scott to take. I want him to desire my throat so bad that he'll shove himself into my mouth to get it. Dominate me. Ravish me. _Need me. _That's real love, blood boiling, balls on fire—not your puppy dog nonsense."

The last of the eggs hissed into the hot skillet. Jean tossed the cracked shell into the trash and wiped off a little yolk on her apron. "I think Scott will appreciate a warm breakfast more than he will watching you eat a popsicle, but that's just me. His wife."

She took hold of the skillet's padded handle, dumping a handful of shredded cheese onto the frying yolk, and slanting the skillet around to mix everything together for an even burn.

Emma hummed consideringly, pushing the popsicle all the way into the mouth, holding onto the stick with two pinched fingers as the dessert slid into her throat, before she pulled it out—bringing her mouth off the popsicle with a sultry smirk directed at Jean. "Maybe so, dear. But Scott was with me. He's only with you now because I want him fucking his way through the X-Men, sharing in all those hot bitches with me. If he were still the boring, faithful boy scout you prefer—the only one he'd be with is me."

"_That's it," _Jean hissed, dropping the skillet back onto the burner with a clang. "If you like punishment so much, maybe it's time you _really _learn your place."

Emma patted the popsicle against her cheek, giving herself a facial with its melting cream. "Do please try it, _Jean. _You may have the raw strength, but I have the skill. And if you want to take another walk through my memories, feel free to see all the places I let him put his cock in me. I didn't _actually _give him a handy at your grave, but he was _definitely _hard enough for it."

"Bitch!"

"Prude!"

Their fight proceeded into the psychic realm, astral forms locked in combat as their physical bodies held perfectly still.

_Slut!_

_Damn straight!_

The popsicle melted down Emma's hand. The eggs crisped and went black in the skillet.

"Whore," Jean whispered through barely moving lips.

"Scott's whore," Emma retorted, though it was more like she thought it, her lips parted in frozen numbness.

That was when Scott entered. With one single sweep of his ruby quartz visor, he took the room in. Emma's melted popsicle was dripping into a puddle on the ground. The burnt eggs in the skillet were issuing gray smoke.

He spared a moment to take in the sight of Emma and Jean's semi-naked bodies. Emma with her subtle tan, her golden hair, her black stockings underscoring her long legs and the miles of bare skin that rose above her firm thighs, pure sex, from her shaven pubis to her chilly aristocratic features. Jean with her pale skin, dusky freckles, bright red hair framing her gorgeous face, button nose, easy smile, wide sultry eyes giving an edge of sexuality to an otherwise adorable visage.

Dangling between his thighs, his limp prick surged in readiness, growing firm but not yet raising up into the air. Scott ignored it. While Jean and Emma were still as statues, lost in their psychic duel, he went to the stove and turned off the burner, then slid the skillet into the sink and turned on the water. The hot metal hissed with white clouds, but at least he'd caught it before the smoke alarm went off. That just left the matter of Jean and Emma.

He went to Jean first, put his big hands on her curvy body, and eased her forward. It was a measure of how much Jean trusted him at a core level that she went unresistingly, walking forward as if hypnotized while her mind remained locked in telepathic battle. Then he went to Emma, pushing her into the center of the kitchen so she was directly across from Jean. It was gratifying to know that she trusted him as much as Jean. If even Captain America had tried to manhandle the powerful telepaths as he just had, their psychic defenses could've crushed his mind.

He took hold of Jean's left hand and Emma's right. He placed them both at waist height, off to the side of the two women. Then he laid his manhood across their palms. Its fat ten inches easily dwarfed both their slender hands.

Standing on either side of him, Jean and Emma instinctively tightened their grip, each holding about half of his growing erection. The sudden awareness of what they were holding broke through their combat. Slowly, they withdrew their minds back from the astral plane and into themselves, coming back to find Scott standing before them both, his member demanding their attention.

And while they might normally have let go of such an intimate portion of anatomy, finding that their rivals were holding him as well made them tighten their grip. Emma ran her hand up and down the upper half of Scott's prick, rounding her grip over his cockhead and back onto his shaft. Jean spun her hand on his cock like she was revving a motorcycle engine, adding a wonderful variety of feeling to the skill that Emma was already using.

"Now—isn't that enough for both of you?" Scott rumbled deep in his chest. He hadn't put on anything since fucking Betsy. Both women took in his burgeoning muscles, the crisp lines of his handsome face, the sheer size of the erection that they both handled with room to spare.

Psychic combat was already an intense, some would say intimate prospect. It was no wonder they found themselves flooded with arousal—giving in more than willingly as Scott wrapped his hands around their waists, delving down to their asses to fondle both Jean's sizable backside and Emma's tight, svelte buttocks.

Jean's more ample assets gave Scott room to squeeze and massage, while with Emma he simply patted in possessive appreciation. It left Jean feeling very sensitive, her ass getting more and more tender as Scott molded the soft flesh with his hand, waking up the nerves into craving his touch. All of Jean was soft—her warm belly, her pendulous breasts, her ample thighs—but her ass billowed out from her otherwise slender waist until it was a feature onto itself, a constant companion that bulged out through jeans, dresses, and shorts, though she was loath to show off her body to that extent. Except with Scott, of course.

"I thought you two had learned to share," Scott said, his voice gently cutting. Playful, but still as serious as he usually was. Emma bit her lip. Jean batted her eyelashes. Both could tell that whatever game he was playing, it would have high stakes. "Didn't we have fun sharing last night?"

"She started it!" Jean accused, before becoming aware of how childish she sounded. But it was obvious that Emma had been spoiling for a fight. And quite possible Emma had gotten just what she wanted, dragging Jean down to Emma's level, making them look like two squabbling children instead of a housewife and a homewrecker…

"Maybe I should punish her then," Scott mused aloud. He looked Emma in the eye as best he could with solid red in the way. She still moistened under the force of his gaze, knowing she was his, that she was about to be _used_. "Push you down on your knees. Fuck your pretty face. Would that teach you a lesson, Emma? Would that make you a good girl?"

"_Mmmm," _Emma moaned, biting her lip. "Nothing can make me a good girl, Scott. Only more of a whore."

Scott smirked at her before turning to Jean. She too wilted under his glare, intimidated and turned on all at once. Whatever her own power, she was still almost addicted to being dominated by him. And as much as she'd love to see Emma put in her place, she wanted to be disciplined herself almost as badly.

"What about you, Jean? Haven't you always said that Emma is a wanton slut? Yet, when she goads you, you're the one who loses control. Shouldn't that be punished?"

His callused hand brushed over her ass. Jean was suddenly aware of how tender her buttocks were—how sensitive they'd become as Scott groped and played with her ass. His fingers snapped against the crest of her contours, drawing a sharp "oww!" out of Jean at the unexpected pain. And the little smack hadn't even had much wind-up.

Scott's lips brushed against her ear. "Maybe I should smack your fat ass until you've learned your lesson. Then you can be the good little girl you always say you are."

Jean twisted her face away from Scott, her cheeks coloring and her ears burning. "Scott—no—that's too much… I… we've never…"

He pulled both Jean and Emma's bodies together, softly ripe curves melting into softly ripe curves. The two women gasped at the influx of sensation as their naked flesh pressed together, separated only by the thin fabric of Jean's apron and the tissue-sheer stockings on Emma's legs. That, and Scott's protruding manhood, sandwiched between their groins. Hot as a miniature sun, throbbing so hard that it felt like it was the thing sending the vibrations of their pounding heartbeats through their chests.

Scott kissed both of them in turn, his kisses hot and bruising, dominating, leaving them with no will to resist as afterwards, he laid his hands on the back of their heads and forced their lips together. Jean kissed Emma, Emma kissed Jean, the tension between them finally exploding into rich, delicious passion. In the sudden void, neither of them thinking or knowing what to think, desire rushed in. Nearly enough to make them forget the hammering cock locked between their bodies, ready to ravage either one of them, any of their holes.

Scott could've been spent hours watching their bodies touch and mold to each other, their lips caress with growing desire but also growing nervousness, the gentle sighs as they kissed becoming louder, more needful moans. He did take a moment to relax his grip on their heads, leaving no pressure forcing them to continue the kiss—just as there was nothing he did to press them into touching one another, hands exploring the lush contours of the other's body, feeling out the pleasures they could evoke and be rewarded with in turn.

He even pulled on their hair, trying halfheartedly to separate them, only for Jean and Emma to resist despite the pain, hands clasping to one another's faces as they continued the kiss. His cock dripped molten precum, painting both their bellies as they cavorted skin to skin. He needn't have worried about them leaving him out. As one set of hands continued the feminine play, Jean and Emma also caressed him with one hand each, pulling at his muscular frame and fondling it as readily as they did each other.

Scott gave in a little—licking up the side of Jean's sweaty face as she kept kissing Emma, gorging herself on the new Sapphic delight. The redhead moaned to be kissed by both her lovers, going flush with a hint of embarrassment, yet not letting it stop her from grinding ever more enthusiastically into Emma's body. It was enough to tempt Scott into giving up the game of punishment and simply give them another chance to share their toys.

Then he heard bare feet padding across the linoleum tile. Turning his head, he saw Betsy was entering. The ninja wore only his shirt, baggy and bulky on her slight frame. The oversized fabric pressed against the lean body within, showing off the ripe curves of her breasts, the hardened nipples—and Betsy wasn't so short that the shirt reached far below her hips. Indeed, its hem came down so high that he could see the morning sun shining through her thigh gap, outlining her inner thighs and the nakedness of her pubic mound. His erection gave up another bullet of precum and Emma and Jean both moaned, smearing his seed between their bodies. Scott guessed he would have to buy a new apron. This foursome was quickly running up a tab.

"A four-person orgy and no one fixes breakfast," Betsy demurred, going to the pantry for a pragmatic box of cereal. "How impractical."

"We were sort of discussing that," Scott said. _Now _Jean and Emma were really including him, lips pressing to his chest, apparently deciding there was more than enough of his pecs for them both to mouth. Emma's hands squeezed his ass, leaving a painted handprint of melted popsicle there. "Jean was fixing breakfast, but Emma screwed it up. I'm trying to decide on a fitting punishment."

"I know you can be down on yourself at times, but sex with you hardly seems to be a disciplinary measure." Betsy sat atop the breakfast nook for a good view, reaching into the cereal box with her bare hand to scoop out some flakes. "If you really want to punish them—punish me. I know I'd stop being bad if I knew it meant I'd just have to sit and watch while you fucked some other bint."

"Now there's an idea," Scott said as Betsy shoveled the flakes into her mouth. "Not that I want you to stop being bad."

"Then reward me. While _they _were being bad, I was being _so_ good… remember?"

Scott did remember. His cock pounded harder than ever. He supposed this was a little team now—and being team leader always involved hard choices.

**A. Punish Jean **

**B. Punish Emma**

**C. Punish Betsy**


	16. Punish Betsy

"Betsy," Scott said hoarsely, "that's my shirt."

Her almond eyes glowed as Betsy stripped off the garment, the only clothes she wore, managing the peculiar trick of conveying the excitement of following his orders while making it clear she had only been given permission to do as she enthusiastically wanted. That, more than anything else, stuck in Emma and Jean's craw.

"Now, wait just a minute," Jean began, face flushed and a little sweaty. "I never said you _couldn't_ spank me…"

Emma was more direct, running a hand between her naked breasts and turning her whole body into a display of challenging insouciance. "So you're not going to punish me? No matter how much of a bad girl I've been? I thought you were ready to be a daddy…"

Naked, displaying a justified pride in her perfect body, Betsy pushed past both of them to go to Scott. With even more directness than Emma, she wrapped her fingers around his cockhead, running them down from his glans to the base of his prick, then letting them trace over his hairy balls.

"Taking this John Thomas hurts too good to be a punishment," she cooed.

Scott took her by the wrist and gently twisted her hand away, making it clear that no matter how skillful she was, he would be calling the shots. He pulled her body against his, smashing his lips to hers. Her tongue darted into his mouth and she moaned as it was sucked on.

"Well, it's a good _start," _Emma said snidely, glancing at Jean in actual commiseration. She ran a finger along Betsy's bare back. "But it's high time for us to join in."

Jean smirked naughtily as she reached down to cup Betsy's ass. "Yes… we know _all about _being punished by that 'John Thomas'… we'll show you how it's done."

Still kissing Scott, Betsy's hands lashed up, two psi-blades glowing purple as she drove them into Jean and Emma's skulls. The two women let out undignified grunts as they went down semiconscious. Scott reached past Betsy to grab them both, his hands collaring their throats, and he gently lowered the two to the kitchen's linoleum tile.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked.

Betsy smirked. "You know all my psi-blades do is disrupt brain functions an eensy bit. They'll be fine. But it wouldn't be a punishment if they got to do more than watch."

Grinning wickedly, she toed Emma so that the blonde laid against the kitchen island, upright and staring blankly ahead. Another kick and Jean was doing the same.

"Still," Scott persisted, ever the peacemaker, "psi-bolts seem a bit much for the bedroom."

"We're not in the bedroom," Betsy pointed out. "And I don't think two members of the Hellfire Club have room to complain about a little kink. They can still hear and see everything we do—they can even get turned on—they just can't do anything about it. I think that's a pretty big incentive to be a good girl, don't you?"

"I think you just want me all to yourself."

Betsy raised an eyebrow. "Maybe." She went to the kitchen nook, sitting down on the little table in full view of the paralyzed Jean and Emma. Teasingly, she crossed her long slender legs in front of them. "But you don't _have_ to fuck me… breed me… make me your slutty little _bint_…"

She let her head drift back, shifting her body obscenely as she waited. Scott went to her.

"It was still naughty." He parted her legs—took his erect cock in hand and aimed it at her purple-haired slit. "I'll have to punish you after all."

"Good. I deserve it." She smiled ruthlessly. "Put on a good show, love. Your other bitches are watching."

And they were—unable to look away as Scott's long, fat prick disappeared inside of Betsy.

"_Nnnnnh! _It's so big!" Betsy keened. "It's bloody filling me up! I love it, Scott! Bloody well love being your cock holster!"

Scott withdrew from her until only his helmet remained inside her sopping pussy. Then, groaning with the effort of withstanding Betsy's tightness, he rammed himself in all the way to his balls.

"And I love your pussy, Betts," Scott grimaced. "Your hot… tight… _pussy!"_

Their bodies fit together in perfect harmony, Betsy's shapely legs wrapped around Scott, her hips accepting and relishing the motion of his driving cock. She laid back on the table, stroking her breasts as she was fucked in a display of arrogant self-pleasure.

It spurred Scott on to fuck her harder, to give her the brutal thrusts that she longed for—rattling the table beneath her, jiggling all of Betsy's ripe flesh. Betsy moaned aloud, showing how much she loved being reamed in such a way. Her body writhed hotly as the relentless pistoning continued.

"You have any idea… how long I've waited… to fuck your dirty… little… cunt?" Scott panted, only barely holding back the rocking motion of his hips, his hands on Betsy's waist to keep her in place. He didn't want any interruption in the exquisite massage her cunt gave his prick as he stroked into it.

"Mmmmm—as long as I've wanted you to!" Betsy groaned.

Grinning ferociously, Scott knocked her hands away from her cleavage and gripped them himself, enjoying the way her large nipples were hard to the touch. He played with her pert tits, pinching the cherries of her nipple even as he drove his lustful prick deeper into her womanhood.

"Daddy…" Emma muttered as she watched, drooling insensately, unable to even look away from Betsy claiming the fucking that was rightfully hers. She sounded like she was talking in her sleep.

Emma could hear Jean's breathing elevated beside her, and knew the redhead was as aroused as she was. If she were free to move, she'd fuck Jean, get her kicks that way if Scott _insisted _on giving that little Brit hooker his cock. But there was no moving, nothing she could do, no relief for her burning pussy.

Scott was enjoying himself too much to notice anything but Betsy's snug cunt. Betsy's shrill cries of pleasure would have drowned out Emma's slight noises anyway; she was growing louder by the second.

"Oh, _yesss, _Scott!" Betsy cried. "I never thought I'd be such a whore—such a cock-hungry whore—but your prick—oh, your fucking todger! Your great big _bollocks!_"

With her hands freed, she reached down and grabbed Scott's swinging balls, cupping and squeezing them with gentle force.

Scott groaned in reply. "Yeah! Feels good, Betts! Do it some more!"

"Punish me!" Betsy gasped, squeezing his balls to make it something like an order. "Punish me for being a dirty little slut!"

Scott grinned. First, he smacked her ass with the flat of his hand—Betsy gasping as she felt the blow reverberate through her whole body. She had expected him to hold back, not to treat her like the dirty whore she was playing the part of.

Then his hand slashed across her breasts, cracking across both of them with a wellspring of pain Betsy wasn't ready for. She moaned like a wounded animal.

Scott slapped her across the face now, knocking her head to the side in an explosion of purple-streaked hair, and Betsy knew that this was his plan, what he wanted.

He'd tricked her, seduced her, compelled her to act the part of a slut, to caper about as the slave to his master, never imagining the pleasure she'd get from her pretending. He'd shown her once again how submissive she truly was, how she enjoyed being a bottom, and for now, at any rate, Betsy didn't fight it. She simply admitted, and enjoyed, that she was his.

Waves of intense sensation rolled over Betsy as she climaxed, her juices flowing from her ravaged cunt, her skin tingling and her flesh burning.

"Be careful what you wish for," Scott said, before the incredible sensual feeling of her pussy orgasming all around his manhood was finally too much for him.

He released his own orgasm, shooting hard into Betsy. An ocean of cum spurted from his swollen balls and splattered inside of Betsy. She felt it pouring into her and groaned with the feeling of fullness.

Betsy wanted it all, every single drop of Scott's seed. She wanted the baby that such a potent eruption demanded and deserved, growing inside her, marking her as forever Scott's. His lover, his mate, _his._

Finally, their shared orgasm subsided. Scott pulled his softening prick away from Betsy's cunt. It dangled between his legs, still long and girthy, stirring Jean and Emma's watching lust all over again.

"Ohhh, talk about punishment," Betsy sighed with a crooked grin that fit the pain and pleasure of their mating. "My little twat's all sore…"

"I'm not surprised," Scott said as he gave her a fond kiss, caring and soft after how roughly he'd fucked her and how hard she'd come. "My cock's almost rubbed raw."

Betsy kissed him again, but she could pick up his thoughts, always busy. He was considering that a late start to his day was threatening to become all out tardiness. He needed to roll through his morning routine and get started on the day's work.

Betsy didn't hold it against him. There was a beautiful world where they _could _lie in bed all day and only think of making love. Scott was trying to build that world, for everyone. She might've liked how he fucked, but she could fall in love with how he thought.

"Go. Shower," Betsy told him. "_I'll _make you breakfast."

Scott kissed her once more. "You mean you don't want to cuddle?" he asked, half-serious.

Betsy realized how much it meant that after all the attention he'd already lavished on her, he would take still more time to care for her after their draining fuck. But she was ninja, after all. If nothing else, she could make do without afterplay.

"Cuddle tonight?" she counteroffered. "I bet I could really help you sleep…"

Scott nodded consideringly. "If you're a good girl," he said, his voice dropping so low in pitch that, as sore as Betsy's cunt was, the twinge that went through it physically hurt.

The man was going to make a masochist out of her.

He left and Betsy got up, feeling _bloated _with how hard he'd come in her. She popped a kink out of her back, then went to where Jean and Emma still laid against the island. She leaned over their bodies, steepling her arms on the countertop. Her cunt was in front of them, showing both women how Scott had left her gaping, how full of cum he'd made her.

"How was it for you?"

**A. Follow Jean**

**B. Follow Scott**


	17. Follow Jean

When she was able, Jean dressed and left Scott's quarters, thinking it had been a very long time since she had done the walk of shame in yesterday's clothes. She both liked and disliked the taste of her youth.

The power of the Phoenix, suppressed as it was, left her able to recover before Emma, but she wasn't in any mood to lord it over the White Queen. Their rivalry, as perversely enjoyable as it was, was now a free for all with Betsy in the mix.

It was obvious Jean had no exclusive claim on Scott. She wasn't his first love now, not with the man he'd become. After how she'd toyed with him, playing with his and Logan's affections, she couldn't even be upset. She wasn't irrational enough to ignore the irony. She wasn't the Dark Phoenix.

Ororo caught her as she walked the halls of the school. The mutant known as Storm looked as staggeringly beautiful as ever, her simple yet graceful costume emphasizing her elegance while leaving alone her exotic sexuality to glimmer on its own.

She wore a simple black unitard finished with silver, a becoming cape flowing off her shoulders and holding onto her bracelets, with thigh-high boots and her stylized headdress completing the ensemble. The plunging neckline of her costume displayed her proud breasts to tasteful excess, while her cape hid the luscious bottom Jean knew her friend to possess, teasing any viewer with bare, firm thighs under a skintight crotch. The final effect was completely natural in its sensuality. Jean could see how Storm was viewed as both divine and yet powerfully sexual by the many who were charmed by her.

Or perhaps her judgment was just impaired by the perversion Scott and their new power dynamic had driven her to. She had never thought of Ororo in such terms before…

"Good morning, Jean." Ororo frowned, seeing the turmoil within Jean. She had none of Jean's psychic abilities, but with her insight and tenderness, she often seemed more sensitive than Jean was. "Is something bothering you? You seem unwell."

"I'm fine. Just a long night," Jean said.

"Yes, I imagine it must be difficult, seeing Scott with Emma after all you've shared."

Jean managed a sickly smile. "You have no idea."

"Perhaps you could come to the garden with me. I was about to water my plants. You could take a moment and collect yourself."

"Alright, 'ro. Why not?"

Jean followed Ororo up several flights of stairs to what had once been the mansion's attic, but after several remodels and reconstructions, it was now essentially built from the ground up as a greenhouse to be Ororo's personal botanical playpen. Jean closed the door behind her and locked it, not so much for the sake of modesty, for Ororo had little, but that so no wandering student happened upon Ororo while she watered her plants in the way she was accustomed to.

Ororo stripped down, laying aside her entire uniform, all but her waist-length white hair. Her chocolaty skin was almost as dark as her black leather costume, while her tuff of platinum pubic hair seemed as burnished as the silver trim on her uniform had been.

Jean picked up an umbrella from the stand in the corner and opened it above herself, taking in Ororo's naked beauty almost as an aesthete would, while above her, storm clouds grew from clear air. They burgeoned against the glass ceiling, blotting out the clear blue sky above, and down came a chorus of rain on Ororo's flesh and the plants around her.

Jean bit her lip. Ororo was a creature of rare beauty. Her tall, slender body with its perfectly proportioned curves seemed all but godlike. Between the friendship Ororo offered to Jean and the sexuality that so appealed to the ravenous Phoenix, Jean did not know how her path had never led her to Ororo. She thought of Ororo's beauty, ravished by Scott's masterful pleasuring, and it almost made her feel faint.

"Now, what troubles you, my sister?" Ororo asked, walking between the rows of plants to absorb how each took the gentle shower she was providing. Her naked skin gleamed all the brighter with her supple muscles working underneath it in each long stride.

A wicked thought occurred to Jean. A purely Phoenix thought. She smiled as darkly as Emma ever had. "It's hard to explain… It has to do with Scott. He and I, we've reconnected of late… so to speak."

Ororo looked up from a passel of red roses. "Jean, that's wonderful news! Nothing against Emma, of course, but you and Scott… I am well-versed in how happy you make one another."

_That was one word for it, _Jean mused, recalling how 'happy' Emma and Betsy had looked last night as well. "Nothing against Emma? Ororo, she's not really out of the picture."

Ororo frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. "What do you mean, Jean? I realize things are complicated between the three of you, but Emma is aware… Scott has ended things with her, has he not?"

"No," Jean shook her head. "He hasn't."

"Oh." Ororo set her face in serene dignity, refusing to judge until she had the whole story. "Perhaps you should explain the entire… affair."

"Yes, I'd hate for you to get the wrong impression of Betsy."

"Betsy?" Ororo's face stiffened with surprise. "Betsy is involved as well? Is she… Emma and her, are they now…?"

Inwardly, Jean smiled. Ororo had few vices, but she was as human as the next woman when it came to juicy gossip. Juicy gossip and feminine curiosity. "Perhaps it'd be easier simply to show you." She raised a few fingers to her brow. "Would you mind if I…?"

Ororo hurried to nod. "Yes, please, show me. I would hate not to have the full story."

Now Jean smiled outright, showing her teeth. "Don't worry, Ororo. I won't leave anything out."

And as the rain padded off her umbrella and splattered against her friend's naked body, she fed Ororo's mind the entire evening of the preceding day, starting with how Scott had seduced her in front of an entire class, then moving on to include Betsy and Emma—the long, restful night after they'd temporarily exhausted themselves with servicing each other—and then that morning and the fresh combinations it had brought, the passionate new course of her rivalry with Emma and the strained, sadomasochistic appeal of watching as Scott made love to Betsy while Jean was helpless to relieve herself of the sexual arousal she felt. It had been the same voyeuristic glee Emma'd had, the same incensed submissiveness. But while Emma was comfortable with that side of herself, Jean had had to flee. And now she was showing Ororo how it felt, every touch, every moment, every inch of Scott's cock.

Naturally, Ororo came. She came again and again, the indoor rainstorm thundering violently, shaking the potted plants as she experienced an entire orgy in the space of a single scant minute. Jean's smile widened to watch it. Deviant she might be, but sharing it with Ororo had proved that the X-Men's other leading lady was as perverse as she was.

Jean finally finished, showing Ororo how Betsy had looked as she displayed herself fresh from being Scott's whore, and Ororo staggered, falling to her knees locked in climax, the cloud above pouring rain like a levee breaking before the water abruptly stopped. Ororo knelt there, soaked to the bone, gasping for air through ragged strands of wet hair. Jean watched as the last of the rainwater ran over her lush body, touching with fondness her graceful features and all the ethereal loveliness of her statuesque frame.

"By the Bright Lady… I've never… never so hard," Ororo gasped. "Thank you, Jean… I… I hadn't known… how could I know… it could be like… _that?"_

Jean set aside the umbrella, glad to share this with her friend. But there was something that could make this even better, though.

But first, Jean would have to wait until Ororo calmed down. It took a long time, because Ororo was wringing every bit of satisfaction out of her multiple orgasms, wisely choosing to enjoy them as much as possible before they were fully over. But finally, the experience started to fade from her mind, leaving only a small but growing desire for more.

"How do you feel?" Jean asked then.

Ororo smiled dreamily. "Like I'll die if I climax once more. Goddess! I never would've thought a woman who had to share her man with two others was fortunate, but Jean… my friend… you are blessed indeed!"

Jean mirrored her smile. "Two others?"

Ororo's eyes instantly lit up and she looked at Jean with renewed alertness. "Did I count wrong?"

"I hope so," Jean said. "It seems to me that if we're passing on Scott's genes to the best that the mutant world has to offer, than it doesn't get much better than a goddess."


	18. Follow Scott

Scott set down the phone. He'd gone into his bedroom simply to gather fresh clothes to change into after his shower, but he'd been waylaid by a call from his brother, describing the hate crime he'd faced in Greensboro. Scott resolved to bring it up at the X-Men's next psychic conference and decide on a proportionate response. Mutant politics aside, no one picked on his brother but him.

Scott checked the clock on his nightstand. Important as the call had obviously been, it'd eaten into his morning routine, which Betsy had already taken a big bite out of. It was nearly time for the meeting and he literally wasn't dressed. Clothes tucked under his arm, Scott moved double-time to the bathroom.

The shower was already running, steam from its hot water clouding the air as Scott stepped inside. It cleared with the rush of air from him opening and closing the door, then Scott could see to the pebbled glass of the shower stall. It could only be Emma inside, naked, the blockade of glass an obscenity on her creamy skin. Even with just her voluptuous outline visible, she was glorious. Scott felt a tremor go through his limp manhood. He hadn't realized it'd been so long since he'd emptied himself into Betsy.

Emma opened the shower door. She positioned herself perfectly so that the dividing line between the slid-open door and the two joined layers of pebbled glass perfectly bisected her body. Emma was facing the showerhead, her side to him, her body openly poised. All he could see was the backs of her calves, her gloriously plump ass, and her head and shoulders as she leaned back to take the shower spray in her face. Her breasts, all of her front, was hidden by the side of the shower door that was doubly closed.

"Come on in, Scott. The water's fine."

"I don't have time for this, Emma."

Emma turned to face him, the open/closed shower door now bisecting her body down the front. He could see one arm, one eye, one breast, one leg—and he was desperate to see the other half, even knowing that with Emma's diamond-cut, symmetrical body, it could look no different. He watched jeweled droplets of water embrace her flawless skin as tightly as he would like to, her wet hair cascading down her shoulders and over the slopes of her plump tits.

"You don't have time to wash up?" Emma teased with perfect candor in her voice. He could see one well-rounded hip, but her pussy was hidden by the frame of the shower door. It was a sexual taunt worthy of the finest courtesan. "You should make time. The three of us came all over you. How could we not, the way you fucked us over and over again? Even a good little girl like Jean just has to lose her head when your big cock's inside her…"

Scott went to the sink, setting his clothes down on the counter. Emma had thought of everything, wiping the mirror down so it didn't fog up. He could see her body still inside the stall, all the censorious glass in the world unable to dull the vibrant curves of her body. There was no overstating the temptation he felt as Emma stood there, clad only in running water and a veil of steam. Then he heard her moan…

"Nnnhhh," Emma sighed, moving the showerhead down her taut belly, its massage of water tingling its way over her loins. Then she moved the stream up until it was stimulating the tips of her long, hard nipples. Her clit thrummed furiously, not used to having Scott so close and not getting any relief. Emma moved the showerhead down again, not stopping now until its spray was hitting her sex.

She thought of Scott just hard enough for him to feel her attentions through their psychic link—the thought of his big, hard body crushing her into a groaning mattress. Emma knew exactly how she would writhe under his demanding thrusts, whispering in his ear how she loved his cock as he gave it to her, gave her cunt what she craved. She wanted her aching pussy filled to the brim until Scott was ready to feed her his hot, heavy load.

Scott groaned aloud. Emma could tell he was fully erect. If he were any harder, his cock would be knocking her toothbrush off the sink.

"Better hurry," Emma goaded. "I'd hate to use up all the hot water."

Scott wrenched off his visor before he could take another look at her, replacing it with a dry washcloth he used to blindfold himself. He told himself that he could take Emma's games. The shower was big enough for both of them. He'd lather, rinse, and go to attend the conference. All Emma would be getting was clean.

Following long-standing routine, he walked to the shower, but this time he trod over Emma's discarded stockings. He remembered they had been the only thing she wore. With the keen awareness that years of training had given him during episodes of blindness, he felt Emma step to the side, allowing him to get into the shower with her and slide the door shut. Hot water beat down on both of them. Scott could feel Emma's eyes on him, running appraisingly over his muscular body just as he had lusted over her moments ago.

He reached for the soap dish, but Emma beat him to it, swiping the cake of soap away before he could lay hands on it. "Let me do that, my darling," she purred.

The next thing he knew, her hand was rubbing against his chest, smearing soapy lather into his skin. Scott stood there tolerantly as Emma lavished the soap across his pectorals, his broad shoulders, then down across his abdominal muscles—he could sense Emma's glee coming off her as she ran the soap down into his lower belly and pubic hair, pointedly ignoring his throbbing erection.

Despite the fact that Emma was doing no more than rubbing a bar of soap against his flesh—something Scott had obviously done to himself thousands of times—his body responded to her touch, tingling and clenching with the memory of how Emma felt, her arousing skill, the ecstasy that fucking her would bring.

She stepped closer, pressing her full breasts into his chest, where they slid against the soapy suds she had deposited there. Scott groaned aloud, but Emma pretended not to notice, only reaching behind him to paint soap across his broad back. Down his spine and over his muscular ass.

As innocent as Emma was playing this, Scott could well imagine the smutty smile she no doubt wore as she knelt down—his cock had to be right next to her face—and washed his strong thighs. Precum seeped from Scott's stiffened erection, then was lost in the shower spray, but Emma's nostrils twitched. This close, she could smell the tantalizing scent of sperm. As she finished with the ultimate supplication of washing Scott's feet, she turned her head and 'accidentally' brushed her lips across his glans, before she stood up, puckering her lips and sucking away the small taste she had gotten.

"Oops," Emma intoned. "Missed a spot."

Her sudsy fingers teasingly played over his balls and, when Scott didn't resist—it was all he could do not to throw himself into Emma—she gripped them. Scott's muscles tensed with passion. Emma's other hand literally washed over his shaft, his erection twitching crazily as she soaped its length. With how hard his cock was straining, there was no need to move around his foreskin to wash all of his member. Emma simply ran the soap along his prick, marveling at the strong throbs she felt his erection give off.

Scott rolled his head back and simply let Emma have her best go at seducing him. She had a way of making him feel like no hand but hers had ever touched his prick, leaving him out of his head with pleasure. He longed to plunge his newly cleaned manhood into her pussy, finding out how dirty the sex could be when both of them were squeaky clean. But, true to the bizarre constraints of the game they were playing, Emma released his cock when she was done cleaning it, leaving the next move to him. Literally.

"Now do me," Emma purred, taking his hand and pressing the bar of soap into his fingers.

Scott could not resist, reaching out first to where he knew her plump left breast to be. He gripped it firmly in his left hand while, with the right, he washed it brusquely. Scott repeated the procedure with her other breast. He was unsurprised to find her nipple stingingly hard, Emma making a tiny "nnnnnn" noise as he washed all the sensitive contours of her teat.

He went upwards, keeping up the pattern of feeling out her body with the left hand and soaping it with the right. Even sightless, the feel of Emma's body was quick to summon up how perfect she looked—and there was no comparison between the two. If Scott had to choose between seeing Emma and touching Emma, he'd take the feel of her any day.

He slid his hand up her graceful neck, nesting his fingers in her hair while he ran the bar of soap across her face, fingers describing her strong features to him as he washed her face. Her high cheekbones, the aristocratically precise lines of her face. All that was missing was her sharp blue eyes. No amount of touch could convey the feeling of Emma's piercing gaze or the sense of sheer predation they gave off as she shifted into lust.

"Maybe I should wash your mouth out with soap," Scott suggested, pushing the bar of soap at her pert lips. Her resistance underscored how eagerly she usually let him put himself in her mouth. "You've been saying some very dirty things lately…"

_Don't you dare, Summers! _Emma barked in his mind, and Scott slid the soap down off her pointed chin. He understood. Even the White Queen had to draw a line somewhere, declare that there were some things she took no pleasure in.

"No. I like your mouth the way it is," Scott said. He stooped to kiss her as he continued to use the bar of soap on her body, washing her supple arms, her bare back, her slender waist. He turned his head, allowing her to continue kissing at the strong line of his jaw. "Besides, I have better ways of punishing you."

And with his big empty hand, he laid an unerring slap on the large target of her curvy ass.

"Ooh!" Emma cried. "If you're to punish me, don't I even get to enjoy being naughty first?"

"We don't have time for that," Scott said firmly. But even as he said it, he thrust his hand down to Emma's groin. He ground the bar of soap into her firm thighs. Emma opened her legs, exposing her cunt to his hand, and Scott felt the warmth of her sexuality as he rolled the soap over her pussy.

"A bit late to keep _that _clean," Emma jibed. "I may already have your child growing inside me, Scott. Imagine that. A bouncing baby Summers." She pouted. "Is that why you won't fuck me? Because you've already knocked me up? Do I have to up my game—give you even more than my womb to keep your interest?"

He put his other hand on her waspish waist, holding her firmly in place as his right hand cast about like a blind man's, operating by feel alone to delve between her legs, wash her buttocks, her perineum, every part of her with circling strokes. Scott wouldn't have believed he could tell the difference between the shower's water and Emma's lustful juices, but he could most definitely tell that Emma was sopping wet.

"_Mmmmmm," _Emma moaned into his mouth, still kissing him as he washed her. "Clean me off, Scott. I'm tired of being a dirty girl. I want to be good. I want to be your good girl to fuck."

He felt her hands caress his face as she deepened the kiss into a passionate, even romantic embrace, then skimmed her fingers down his body, all the way down to where his cock nestled between her thighs and he held the bar of soap at her groin. Emma slipped away the soap, using her hands instead of open up her sex and invite Scott to enter. Scott was helpless not to reach into her flowing cunt, his soapy fingers feeling the tender lining, the glossy wetness inside her, the tightness that seemed custom-made to hold his hard cock.

"It's yours if you want it, lover," Emma cooed, already a little breathless with the beginnings of her penetration. "But what I really want is your cock in my ass. All Betsy gave you was her cunt. You can have my asshole. Bend me over right here and take it. I've already gotten it ready for you—_daddy. _Use it. Use _me. _Before you have to share these tits with baby."

**A. Use Emma**

**B. Go to the conference**


	19. Use Emma

"You want me to use you?" Scott growled.

"Absolutely, darling. As only you can."

Scott reached up to take down the showerhead from its mount, running the spraying water over both himself and Emma to rinse off the soap suds they'd left on each other's body. Normally, he'd use shampoo, but he'd been told that at least once a week, it was best to do without.

He gently prodded at Emma's body, making her turn around to let him wash her off, and noticed that she went along with his touch eagerly. Then he replaced the showerhead and shut off the tap.

"Come with me," he said, picking up his towel and quickly drying himself off.

"I hope to," Emma quipped, picking up her own towel and daubing it over her body.

This was usually the part where he would shave, but he could put up with a little stubble for the rest of the day. Between Kurt, Hank, and Logan, he doubted anyone would begrudge him some facial hair. Scott put his visor back on and dressed hurriedly, trying not to glance at Emma as he did. One wrong look and it would be impossible to fit into his pants.

"Getting dressed?" Emma asked. "That's not the direction I hoped this was going in."

"You don't have to," Scott told her.

Emma preened at herself in the mirror. No one knew how perfect she looked better than her. "You're right. I don't."

Scott dressed simply. White tee, brown twill utility jacket, slacks, white socks, trainers. Emma made no move to dress herself, instead combing her hair and applying make-up. It took surprisingly little time. Then he put his hand on her upper arm and led her out into the living room of his quarters. He pushed her down to her knees.

"On all fours," he told her, and Emma willingly finished lowering herself to the floor.

"Is this where you use me?" she asked him. "Right here? On the floor?"

"Yes, Emma." Scott sat down in the easy chair beside her, putting his feet up onto her naked back. "That's exactly where I want you."

Emma simmered, already grinding her teeth, but before she could say anything, Betsy came in from the kitchen. She wore only a tea apron around her waist, while holding up a breakfast tray in front of her chest. Otherwise, she was completely naked.

_This, _Scott told himself, _is getting ridiculous._

"A proper English breakfast for a proper gentleman," Betsy chirped. "And, when you're through being a gentleman…" She noticed Emma literally under Scott's feet. "Oh. And people say you don't know how to relax." She tittered. "You're very good for him, Emma. Before you, I don't think Scott knew how to put his feet up…"

"Enough," Scott enunciated firmly. "Could one of you connect me to the conference?"

"I would be happy to, my dove," Betsy said, coming over to sit on the armrest of Scott's chair. She held the breakfast tray out to him. "Here. Eat. You need to keep your strength up."

"Why?" Emma groused. "He doesn't seem to be using it…"

* * *

Cable was running Cerebro, connecting the minds of various X-Men team leaders into one meeting regardless of physical location. He set it in a desert, though thankfully he left the environment only visual. Scott didn't feel any of its heat or dryness as he manifested there, wearing his Cyclops costume as a matter of form. The others were also in uniform: Wolverine, Beast, Banshee, Forge, Iceman, Nightcrawler, and Emma, who left no way of knowing that she was in reality naked, crouched on the ground as Scott's footrest.

Scott noted that neither Jean or Storm were present. It wasn't uncommon for an X-Man to miss this psychic check-in, but neither of the women were on assignment, and it wasn't like either of them to not show up. Scott could only console himself by thinking that if something were the matter, he didn't know anyone better able to handle themselves than the two of them.

Betsy appeared last, though not in the abbreviated costume that'd gotten her so much of Scott's attention over the years. Instead, she wore high-waisted white dress pants and a white blazer, with no shirt underneath. Unbuttoned at the top and bottom, the jacket exposed her belly button and much of her cleavage.

"Isn't that one of my outfits?" Emma asked, crossing her arms—again, showing no sign that she was in the middle of a submissive sex game with Scott.

"Maybe we should learn to share," Betsy said, herself giving no hint that she and Emma were really in the same room, with only one small apron as clothing between them.

Mentally Scott cleared his throat, though physically he was going through the motions of eating breakfast—managing the two layers of reality at this point like walking and chewing gum at the same time to him. "Emma, I think Betsy can wear what she likes, considering it is only a mental projection."

Emma pursed her lips in a pout. "Perhaps. I just think it a shame that such a lovely girl wears something that looks better on me."

"I'll try not to wear anything that looks better on you then," Betsy fired right back.

In the real world, Scott reached out and petted Betsy's thigh soothingly. "Let's focus on the issue at hand. Slow news day for the X-Men, which is a good day, but Alex has brought something to my attention that I want to stay on top of…"

As he ate in reality, his personage on the astral plane filled in the team on all that had happened with Alex and Lorna, gauging the X-Men's reactions while he did. If someone were overly upset, it could speak to a personal issue. As would someone being unconcerned. But everyone seemed to be feeling about the right amount of offense at one of their own being victimized. Not enough to fly off the handle and make the situation worse, but definitely appreciating the gravity of the situation. He could rely on any of them to have his back if they were needed.

"Think we'll need the whole team for this, one-eye?" Logan asked, half-joking.

"No need for a full-court press just yet. I wouldn't want to escalate the situation."

"If they're going after the family of the leader of the X-Men, that's plenty escalation already. We don't respond, we look weak."

"And how do we look if we send a death squad in there to stomp around like the Punisher?" Scott shook his head. "I'll go. It's a personal matter, I should handle it."

"Logan is right, though," Betsy said. "This could get _very _big."

And as she said it, Betsy leaned in towards Scott in the real world, stroking his cock through his pants. Her blue eyes shimmered as she squeezed his prick with one hand, his balls with the other. Emma watched them, her pussy beginning to throb.

"What are you—" Scott began, but cut himself off. With his control slipping, he didn't trust himself to speak in the real world without letting something out in the psychic meeting.

_That's why we're a team, _Emma teeped, as she slipped out from under Scott's feet and went to join Betsy. They were kneeling on either side of Scott now, undoing his fly and pulling aside the layers of clothing in the way to get to his growing erection. Emma leaned over Scott's lap, running her moist pink tongue over his cockhead. _To deal with big things._

She let Betsy go next, watching excitedly as Betsy's tongue followed the saliva she'd left on Scott's manhood. Reaching across Scott's legs, she ran her hand underneath Betsy's tea apron and petted her firm thighs.

Hank 'spoke up' next, his teeping thoughts clear and distinguished. _If this is to be an investigation, then it seems to me a telepath is in order. They could detect the guilt right from the perpetrator's mind. A simple, two-man job._

Betsy eyed Emma, as if she were acting for Emma's benefit as she opened her mouth and lowered it over the swollen knob of Scott's erection. She softly mewled as half of Scott's prick went into her mouth, Emma watching imperiously while those kissing lips stretched around her man's member. Betsy struggled to take more of Scott's ample erection into her mouth, but she had to gag and gurgle to do it. Emma grinned: Betsy was struggling admirably to take more and more.

_Then it's decided, _Emma sent in the mental meeting. Despite herself, it was exciting her to watch another woman take Scott's prick into her mouth. Ripples of desire were going through her body. She swayed, thinking she might make herself come from watching Betsy choke herself on Scott's copious manhood. _I'll accompany Scott to root out our malefactors. We'll make a day of it._

Emma reached out to Betsy's toned ass, digging her fingers into the girthy flesh. Betsy, her small mouth filled by Scott's hardness, whimpered and looked at Emma encouragingly. Scott looked down at both of them, watching with a kind of double vision as the two women competed over his prick, while trying not to let his attention wander too far from the meeting he was supposedly leading.

Tapping her fingers on Betsy's ass, Emma looked up to Scott and his composed yet straining face. "Poor Scott. It's so _hard _being the leader, isn't it? I don't think any of the X-Men know the pressure you're under…"

_Emma is headmistress, _Betsy sent mentally. _I'm not sure we can afford to lose both her and Scott. Perhaps someone else could be found…_

"You bitch," Emma muttered, moving her lips to the base of Scott's prick as Betsy slurped at his knob. "I think I'm getting to like you…"

Sliding her tongue along Scott's cock, Emma ran it up to lap at Betsy's stretched lips, then down to Scott's balls, eying Betsy's wet lips as she eagerly sucked. She wanted to be ready when Scott orgasmed, to get her own helping of his cum. There was no way Betsy could take it all…

_Jean? _Cable suggested. _She and Scott always have worked well together…_

_Then again, _Emma teeped, _I'm sure Scott wouldn't want to be accused of playing favorites…_

Betsy worked, with growing hunger, to get as much of Scott's cock into her mouth as she could, even as Emma's cheeks were bloated out by his balls. It was like they were trying to meet in the middle, divide all of Scott's manhood between their two mouths.

Betsy reached out to return Emma's touch, pushing her hand between Emma's legs, pressing against Emma's cunt until the blonde cooed ecstatically. Still sucking on Scott's balls, Emma got her own hand under Betsy's apron, working a finger into the other woman's tight pussy. Their eyes blazed as they looked at each other, now trying to get one another off as much as they were trying to make Scott come.

_I could go, _Betsy teeped. _Scott and I would be very professional._

_Professional what, I wonder? _Emma sent back, wearing an arrogant smirk that left the X-Men no clue her mouth was really wrapped around a man's scrotum.

Emma and Betsy looked at each other again. No words passed between them, no mental messages, but they knew it was time to finish Scott off. Both coming up to his potently throbbing cockhead, they sucked at it in turn. Betsy would suck the swollen knob while Emma went slightly lower, kissing and licking the shaft underneath. Then Betsy would come off of his helmet, letting Emma replace her, tightening her lips around Scott's cockhead while Betsy smacked her lips on the other side. Together, they suckled at his cockhead so thoroughly that their splayed lips met, as if they were kissing each other right through Scott's member.

Scott dug his fingers into the armrests of his chair, wiggling and writhing, unable even to moan for fear it would translate to his psychic projection. He looked down, meeting Betsy and Emma's erotic gazes. They slipped his cockhead back and forth between their lips, pitching their warm mouths down over his member for a few satisfying gulps before letting the other woman have a go. From the look in Emma's eyes, she could tell he didn't have much more resistance in him.

_I'll consider my options, _Scott teeped. _For now, Forge, get the X-Jet ready. I'll see to things around the mansion, try to depart by noon._

Emma sucked harder and faster at his prick, throating it when it was her turn, but coming off Scott's erection when his throbbing was at its hardest. She wanted Scott to come in Betsy's mouth, to see what Betsy's reaction would be. If Psylocke had the whorish response that Emma thought she would, it would open up a whole new world for her. There were all sorts of things Emma and Scott could do once they were sharing not just each other's bodies, but Betsy's as well.

Scott twisted his hips around, letting out a gratified groan as he closed the psychic connection, the meeting at an end. "_Uuhh! _You hot little whores… I thought I'd just got done disciplining you…"

Emma lifted her mouth from Scott's cock, offering it instead to Betsy's waiting lips. "Whores is right," Emma laughed, watching Betsy stuff her mouth full of Scott's swollen cockhead. "You'll never teach us not to be cock-hungry sluts… we just love fucking you too goddamn much."

Scott leaned back in his chair, collaring his hands in Emma and Betsy's hair, holding the two of them tightly as they attended to his surging erection. "Jesus… Jesus Christ… it's a good thing I'm only taking one of you… two of you would kill me."

"Us kill you?" Emma asked. "Have you seen the size of that thing we're expected to swallow? Talk about a choking hazard…"

"_Gkkrh!_" Betsy was struggling again with Scott's size, the formidable girth of his erection.

Emma put her hand on the back of Betsy's head and pressed her down on Scott's manhood, 'helping' her accept his length all the way into her mouth, down her throat. She watched intently as Betsy shuddered, not just taking Scott's prick but also Emma's fingers in her gripping sex. Emma was very interested to see how Betsy took Scott's cum when they gave her that too.

Scott tightened his grip on Betsy's purple hair and began prying her away from his manhood. "Emma, you take it. I think you deserve a reward for sharing so nicely."

Emma demurred, shaking her head. "I want Betsy to have it. I know what your cum tastes like. I can't wait to see Betsy find out…"

Scott put both hands on Betsy's head, preparing to fuck her face, a fact Betsy was well-aware of from the fearful, thrilled look in her eyes. "You really are on your best behavior, Frost. Keep it up."

Emma smirked at him. "I _always _keep it up, Scott. Even when there's _all that _to keep up." Then she sent him a burst of psychic messaging that was almost climactic itself. _Give it to her now, my love. She's worried she can't take it all, but believe me, the little slag most definitely CAN!_

Holding Betsy's head firmly in place, Scott drove his hips upward, thrusting all of his swollen cock into Betsy's narrow throat. Then, groaning in rapture, he came.

Betsy's eyes were already wide when Scott impaled her throat, but they nearly bulged from their sockets when he spurted his thick, decadent cum into her throat. It flooded the passage, backing up into her mouth and filling that as well, her cheeks bulging out as if Scott's cock hadn't already stuffed her mouth enough.

Emma could sense Betsy's confusion—she wasn't used to being inundated this way, and Scott's cum escaped the seal of her lips, running down her chin. Then Betsy's eyes glazed over in pleasure. Emma saw Betsy's slender throat working, could tell she was swallowing Scott's seed in ecstasy.

Emma leaned over to lick up the rivers of cum that had trailed down Betsy's jaw, mewling with delight as she shared in the taste. Then, as Scott's cock throbbed for the last time, Emma pulled it away from Betsy's mouth and caught the dregs of his ejaculation on her face.

Betsy's mouth gaped as she watched semen cover Emma's beautiful face; her tight pussy clenched around Emma's buried fingers and she came. Emma rammed her middle fingers into Betsy's sex, forcing even more of an orgasm out of her while Scott rained cum down on her face.

Scott fell back, his breathing harsh. Emma kissed Betsy, letting the Asian have another taste of Scott's cream. She turned her head to the side as Betsy lapped up the cum from her cheek.

"Now _that's _a hot shower," she purred.

Betsy savored the cum she'd tasted on Emma's perfect face. "But no more putting us off, Scott. You're too decisive not to know already."

"One of many charming qualities," Emma put in, eying his flagging erection.

"Who are you taking with you?" Betsy demanded.

"Yes, Scott." Emma put herself cheek to cheek with Betsy, smearing the cum from her face onto Betsy's. "Which one of us gets to ride with you?"

**A. Jean Grey**

**B. Betsy Braddock**

** C. Emma Frost**


	20. Take Jean

"I'm taking Jean," Scott said, sounding remarkably composed for a man who'd just sprayed cum on the faces of the two beautiful women kneeling at his feet. "Betsy and I are starting a relationship, while Emma and I are continuing one. But Jean and I have to rebuild our relationship. We have a lot of baggage to deal with and to do that, I'll have to focus on her exclusively."

"Well, if that doesn't sound like a rationalization," Emma drawled.

"She does seem to have him wrapped around her little finger," Betsy agreed. "Skips off for the morning and he's desperate to win her approval…"

"And _that _sounds like sour grapes," Scott said, standing up. He towered over them. "My decision is final."

"Is it?" Emma asked, her face upturned beneath his limp prick. "Perhaps we could make you reconsider. You can take the two of us—reconnect with Jean some other time. We've just proven we can share."

"Yes, Jean does tend to monopolize the conversation in Scott's world," Betsy purred, leavening her words with an adoring pout on her face. "I'd rather have an equal split with Emma than see a third woman get the lion's share."

"Did 'my decision is final' sound like it was open for debate?" Scott asked. "This is an X-Men situation. That's the way I'm handling it."

"By choosing to cozy up to Jean?" Betsy needled. Emma rewarded her with a light pat on the ass.

The good thing about Scott's sunglasses was that no one could tell when he rolled his eyes. "The team dynamic is part of X-Men operations. And it's more important than ever if we're all going to be in a relationship."

"You can't treat our little orgy like one of your X-men teams," Emma told him.

"For now, we're going to have to. And for the record, you've never had a problem with blindly following orders so long as they're your orders."

"I'm exceptionally smart," Emma pointed out. "Betsy, tell him how smart I am."

"Smart or not, Scott has a tendency to be dumb when it comes to the redhead."

"_Ooh!" _Emma fondled Betsy's ass again. "Why didn't I ever make you a Queen in the Hellfire Club? We could've had so much fun…"

Scott tightened his groin muscles, making his cock snap upright, flecks of Emma and Betsy's saliva flying off it. With little more than will alone, Scott had his erection pounding and hammering. He stood above them with his hands on his lips, tightening and relaxing the sinewy muscle, as if it were yet another part of his rigorous work-out routine.

Scott could do a hundred effortless pushups wherever and whenever. He didn't work up a sweat doing an equal number of chin-ups. He could bench three hundred pounds without straining. Sometimes he worked out with Emma watching, indulging his vanity with the respect and lust she gave him. And Emma's own vanity enjoyed knowing that chiseled body, those diamond-hard muscles, were all to please her—and indulge in a few hobbies on the side.

It only made sense that Scott's cock was equally trained. Once, as Emma gave him a blowjob, Scott had exerted himself instead of letting his erection be endued naturally by her efforts. The sudden hardness had lifted Emma's little blonde head like a dumbbell. Suddenly making himself rock-hard caught them equally dumbstruck.

"End of discussion. What I say goes."

"If you're in charge," Emma purred, going cross-eyed staring at his throbbing cock, "why don't you show us?"

Scott put his big hand on top of her head, neatly palming her skull—forcing her face upward to look him in the eye. Emma grinned into her debasement; Betsy squealed with laughter to see Emma being dominated. The normally reserved Brit sounded almost high, quite loosened up by the sex and submission she had enjoyed for so long after going so long without.

With his other hand, Scott gripped his erection and pointed it at Emma's plump lips like a weapon. "Say you're a whore," he ordered, "and kiss my cock."

Emma's lips twisted in a scandalized grin. "I'm a whore," she breathed, and puckered her lips. Scott held his cockhead against her mouth. She kissed it as long as it was offered to her. Her lips popped when he drew his member away.

Scott released her, fisting his hand in Betsy's purple hair next. He brought his hard cock to her lips, stroking it, flooding the tip with precum. The musk invaded Betsy's sinuses. Her eyes rolled, showed white—the smell so heady she could get high off it.

"Say it," he told her. "Kiss it."

Betsy grinned as fiercely as Emma had, but she brushed Scott's hand away, making him release his cock to bob in the open air in front of her. "You took me down once, Scott. Fair fight, you dominated me. I won't deny it. But you can't rest on your laurels. If you want me on my knees, playing the whore—you'll have to make me one."

"Whatever," Scott said, tucking his cock into his pants and zipping it up.

He turned away, but Betsy grabbed onto the back of his belt. Then, slowly, scintillatingly, she tugged his pants down enough to press a kiss into the firm muscle of his ass.

"You're welcome to make me," she drawled, "whenever you're ready."

"I'm ready now. But I'm busy now."

Scott cupped the backs of both their necks, pulling the two women into an embrace with an each other. They grinned until they kissed, lips shifting and suckling and contorting to form the sounds of the pleasure they felt, even as they kept the liplock going. Emma's eyes opened and she looked at Scott, speaking into his head as he backed away—still relishing the sight of their merging mouths.

_Go on, get, _Emma teeped to him. _I'll ruin her for men and then you'll be all mine._

Betsy, of course, 'overheard.' _Ruin me? No—I'm going to break you._

And abruptly Emma was pressed down onto her back, Betsy's warrior muscles standing out from her creamy skin as she made it clear who would be in charge in Scott's absence—headmistress or no.

"Little tart!" Emma swore. "You think you can manhandle me with no manhood?"

"Do you think I need one?"

Betsy ripped away the tea apron she still absurdly wore and covered Emma's body with her own nakedness. She pushed against her, rolling her purple tuft of pubic hair against Emma's sopping wetness. Perhaps it was her imagination, but Betsy thought she could feel the warmth and wetness of the last time Scott had used Emma's cunt. It had left Emma so tender that it took virtually no effort to arouse her again, Emma's lips wobbling and eyes flaring as she absorbed the friction between their two naked bodies.

"Scott fucked me, not you. And since you were his cock holster, I see no reason you shouldn't be mine."

"You don't have a cock!" Emma repeated, exasperated.

"Think I can't get one?"

The combination of Betsy's dominance and Emma's submission was working for both of them, albeit on different levels. For once, Emma seemed a little embarrassed. It was one thing to give in to Scott, she'd mollified herself to being the queen to his king. But Betsy was a pretender to the throne. She couldn't believe the purple-haired bint was going to make her come.

Not that Betsy wasn't aroused herself. Making Emma her bitch was getting the ninja off incredibly, her breath rasping like satin brushing against silk. She reached down between their rutting bodies, pushing Emma's clit down against the neat diamond shape that her downy pubic hair had been shorn into. Betsy took the fleshy bead between thumb and forefinger and, like she was rubbing two sticks together, started a fire in Emma's sex.

Emma's eyes shut. Revenge for this affront could wait. For now, she'd enjoy herself. As Scott had said, she was a whore. Why not be whorish enough to luxuriate in this? She wrapped her arms around Betsy's muscular shoulders, touching Betsy's long hair, slick with sweat. It seemed to welcome being wrapped around Emma's fingers.

Emma felt her throat go dry while her lips were wetter than ever. "Kiss me while you make love to me," she moaned. "I'm a _lady."_

Whatever she had to say in support of such an unlikely idea, it was stopped by the press of Betsy's lips against her own. Betsy's wet tongue stroked against Emma's mouth, until Emma was overwhelmed by the soft promise she felt in the kiss, and let Betsy's tongue invade and overwhelm her own. Then all she felt was pleasure and all she had to do was be satisfied—Betsy was getting off more than enough just having the White Queen submit to her.

* * *

In the headmaster's office, Scott quickly caught up on the work he'd been understandably neglecting. He had the advantage of being able to delegate most everything to various other X-Men in positions of authority. It surprised him to realize how many were now trustworthy figures when they'd spent so long as rivals or even children. Kitty practically had her own team now. Logan was, if not a company man, someone who could be relied upon to do a job and do it right. It was hard to think of one of the outcasts and vagabonds that had come to the X-Men and find one of them he wouldn't now trust his life to.

There was one last chore. A Danger Room simulation he'd been working on for Emma. It would serve Betsy equally well. He set a summons for that evening, drawing the two of them to the Danger Room for a session. It would be good for them to burn off some steam if they were feeling frisky without him.

Just as he fired off the communique, another one arrived on his desktop. This one was a video from Rogue. Setting his chin on his fist, Scott played it.

Rogue wore what had to be the tightest pair of jeans she owned, showing off her ass like nothing else could except the loincloth she always seemed to put on within one minute of entering the Savage Land. They were cut-offs, too, so high on her creamy thighs that the white pockets came out from under the frayed hems.

She walked toward the camera, rolling her hips like a belly dancer, twisting her body around to pose. There was a tattoo on her back, right above the dip that met her jeans' belt. It read 'Touch At Your Own Risk.'

Rogue turned back around, showing off the sleeveless flannel vest that was barely buttoned in front, showing off her taut belly and her full breasts in equal measure. Then she turned away again, shoving out her firm ass, her tight jean shorts—giving herself a hard smack on the ass to make it impossible for Scott to look away.

"Hey sugah," Rogue breathed, that irresistible Southern twang making her voice even sexier. "Ah heard what y'all been doin'. Word travels fast, ya know. Everybody knew what you was doin' with Emma—you never made that a secret, but still, it got people's whiskers up. Otherwise maybe ya could've kept what you was doin' with Betsy Boo to a little bitty thing on the side. But Jeannie too? You're one dirty dog, Scott, takin' all three of them ladies at once. And a smart cookie like you should've figured there'd be one or two gals feel themselves left out!"

With a toss of her skunk-stripped hair, Rogue ripped open the vest. It wasn't much of a bra she was wearing underneath. Just some scraps of red lace gilding her breasts, so thin they were nearly translucent. Yet as luscious as they were, soft and pliant, yet firm enough to be of a piece with the big cherry-pit nipples that were stiffly erect at the tips, Scott was more taken by the totality of her nakedness—all that bare flesh. There was something about Rogue's soft, creamy, paleness that seemed almost divine, it was so sensual. She was so soft and voluptuous that just looking at her made Scott feel like he could feel the decadent warmth of all that naked flesh.

And yet Scott felt compelled to meet the sparkling green eyes under the batting eyelashes, smiling at him—or rather, the camera. Her full red lips were moist and soft, smiling heedlessly in joy at her own beauty. And Scott had rarely seen anything as lovely as her luxurious hair sprawling indulgently down her smooth shoulders.

"Of course, a man like you wants the best'a everythang. Emma, Jean, Betsy, they're some real high-class ladies. But ah'm no musk-rat myself. After all, ah got that ol' swamp-rat Gambit sniffing after me even 'fore we could touch. Getting' the clue why, Scott? Ah'd hate to state the obvious…"

Scott's eyes flowed up and down her body, pulled almost magnetically to the barely covered breasts on display as she held open her vest and, down the smooth plane of her belly, the crotch of her jeans. Unzipped, panties short and skimpy underneath, with both brown and white hairs emerging from over the dangerously low waistband of the garment. He could almost see the lips of her eager pussy through the splayed fly and thin panties, and Rogue looked so wet he could sear he smelled her cunt.

"'Course, me and Gambit are real happy together, Scott. Maybe even as happy as you, ya ol' fox, in the henhouse with those three chickadees of yours. Lemme show you why, Scott."

Now she pulled her vest off entirely, spinning it in the air above her head before letting it fly. Her eyes stayed on the camera—Scott felt like she was looking right at his throbbing cock, even as she peeled her bra away next. At the sight of her jostling breasts, her wildly erect nipples, Scott reached down to stroke himself through his pants. The strategist in him thought of pausing the video, summoning Emma or Jean or Betsy to watch it with him so they'd be on hand to deal with the massive erection this display was giving him. But the man in him couldn't stop watching, even for the frantic sex that was sure to result if any of his three telepaths got a glimpse of his psyche in this state.

"Ah always liked ya, Cyke. Kinda rooted for Wolvie to take yer girl so ah could have ya all to myself. Ain't that bad a me? Maybe we could consider this mah apology. Though ah'm hoping you'll do a whole lot more than jes' accept it!"

She cupped her bare breasts in her hands and offered them to the camera before pulling her jeans down and steeping out of them. In only thong panties—little more than a belt with a strap that went between Rogue's legs, amusingly hiding only the white stripe on her thatch of brown pubic hair—she danced for the camera, missing not one trick in how to show off her ass, her slender legs, and most especially the ripe melons on her chest.

"See, th' Cajun and ah hav' one thing missin' from our marital bliss. Ah think you can guess what. Remy's one helluva cocksman, so who would've thought he was short'a the special sauce to make us an according-t'-Hoyle family?"

Rogue pushed her panties slowly down her long legs, bending over to get them all the way down. When she came up, she wiggled her shoulders and her hips, showing that all her flesh was entirely natural, no matter how impossibly perfect he looked. Scott felt the back of his throat run dry.

"So ah want that same deal all your high and mighty Phoenixes and White Queens are getting'. Ah want you t' take this little ol' cooter and knock it up. Ah know that's one big ask, so feel free to enjoy y'self as much as ya want while you're at it."

Rogue was sweating now, gyrating her ass, shaking her jubilant breasts. She pumped her naked slit at the camera, then turned to show the full globes of her buttocks. She reached down her sides, down to her pussy, and underneath her body, she pulled her labia open—Scott could just make out the glossy pinkness of her sex.

"Ah've certainly picked up a few tricks from that damn swamp rat o' mine that ah'd like trying out on a stud like you. And y'all can show me what ya do to Frost that makes that blonde beaver of hers sing. Ya know whatever she goes in for must be some world-class fuckin'!"

Rogue teased her pussy with her fingers, taunting Scott with the idea before slowly pushing two fingers inside of herself. Scott swore and reached into his pants, gripping his cock and pumping it directly. He watched while Rogue fingered herself, buck her ass as she was fucked, turning her cunt into a boiling froth.

"If you're interested—and not too busy with those three bitches you're already taking walksie—ah want you t' prove you're serious."

With her big white ass jutting out, Rogue reached behind herself and parted her buttocks. Scott could see both the pink hole of her anus and her shaven slit from the back. He watched almost disbelievingly as Rogue pushed her middle finger into her anus, making it all too clear how far she was willing to go on this prospective rendezvous.

"Make a little movie for me, Scott. Show me your sweet little self doing what ya must want t' be doin' right now. Show me how much y'all will come when you're breeding my Southern ass."

Rogue straightened. She picked up her famous brown flight jacket from the back of a nearby chair, throwing it onto her naked body. It did nothing to hide her jutting tits, her wet pussy, or much of anything else—it seemed mainly to remind Scott that this was no random slut making this request, but Rogue. Making it all the hotter what a slut she was being.

"Can ya do that for little ol' me, Scott? Whip it out and crank it up? Because once you do, y'all can consider me your baby momma. Who knows—ah might even see about asking Remy to let Junior have a few siblings!"


	21. Record a video for Rogue

Remy LeBeau fucked in a daze, half unable to believe the horny young woman writhing underneath him was Rogue. He was only slightly more sure that he was actually fucking her—that Rogue could control her powers, that she was his wife, and most of all, that she was ecstatic about it. Rogue had always been flirty, coquettish, but who would've dreamed that given the chance, she'd be as sexual as she'd always played at? As he'd always hoped?

She felt so good to him that tears ran from his blackened eyes. He came, the orgasm gripping his body like an electric shock. His flesh jerked uncontrollably with each spurt of cum that Rogue's quivering sex demanded from him. He crushed himself into her, smothering her, grinding her into the bed. Their bodies were fused; he wanted to take every piece of her into himself. He'd never felt so close to a woman. He'd never thought his restless soul could feel so satiated.

Remy gave a sharp grunt and Rogue knew that he was finished coming. "No," she sighed, feeling his wonderful cock pull free from her. "Not yet!"

She felt deserted—empty—forlorn—alone. A couple of jerks into her cunt and Remy was finished. He fell down next to her, panting.

_"Je t'aime, je t'aime. Oh oui, je t'aime."_

Rogue took a deep breath and consoled herself. She felt good all over, warm, exhilarated, and satisfied—to a point. She could've gone for another hour, the way she felt. But it only made sense. After a lifetime of seduction and debauchery, as much as he loved her, Gambit was blasé about sex. He couldn't understand how much it meant to her. While she had what felt like eons of being untouched to make up for. Her appetite seemed insatiable.

Leaving Remy to unspool, she went to the bathroom and splashed some cold water onto her face and her chest, washing the sweat from her naked body. Then she slipped back into bed with Remy. He stirred a bit but didn't wake from his exhausted sleep.

Rogue didn't mind. She knew that thanks to her theft of Ms. Marvel's powers, she had quite a bit more stamina than Remy did. It was by no means the worst punishment she might've merited for that crime. Even if it seemed uniquely ironic to her, something straight out of Dante's Inferno. Now that she could have sex, she literally couldn't get enough.

For a moment, Rogue ran her hand over Remy's still body. She was ready for another round and he was hard to resist, his naked body firm and supple, his unshaven jaw giving a rakish edge to a body and face that otherwise could've been boyish, even pretty. She wanted to feel that stubble scratching between her thighs, but Rogue knew he was too tired. After the exercise she'd put him through, he'd well-earned being dead to the world.

Her phone beeped. Giving one last look at Gambit and seeing that he was well and truly comatose, Rogue picked it up. It was a message from Scott. He'd sent her a video.

Thinking nothing of it, Rogue played it.

At first, there was no video, just blackness. But she could hear something, a slushy, liquid repetition. Rogue, her curiosity piqued, stared at the blank screen until suddenly it was displaying an image to go with the noise.

Scott Summers was jacking off.

He stood nude in the middle of his office, his sculpted body tight, tense, absorbed in the pleasure he was evidently feeling. His handsome face held a look Rogue had never seen on it before. In his hand, he clutched his long, hard erection. He pumped it slowly, his eyes squinted shut, his teeth clenched, his face contorted with ecstasy.

Rogue had downloaded enough porn to have seen a man masturbate before, but never anyone she knew, especially not someone she'd crushed on. A part of her was scandalized. Some of her was simply shocked. And a big piece of her was outright thrilled.

Her heart raced. She felt a heady sense of voyeurism fill her. She trembled, eyes wide, and watched Scott handle his immense cock. Rogue thought to look away, thought to shut the phone off, even thought that her husband Remy was lying asleep in bed right next to her. It made no difference. She kept watching.

Rogue was fascinated by the way Scott jerked off his erection, the way precum bubbled and leaked at the tip, rolling down the shaft onto his clenched hand.

Then she heard him whisper. "You like that, Rogue? You sweet little slut, you want this?"

Her heart rocked furiously against her ribcage. _He's saying my name. He sent this to me. He's thinking about me!_

Scott pumped faster, his jerks throwing flecks of precum from his erection. Rogue watched intently, shaking all over. Why had he sent her this? Why was he interested in her when he had Emma? Did it matter? Her pussy felt alive once more, slick and wet and on fire, almost like she was being fucked all over again.

"Yeah, Rogue, you nice little fuck," Scott gritted out, pumping harder—perhaps showing Rogue how he'd use her, force pleasure out of her, if he had her to play with instead of his own cock.

The more Rogue watched, the more she liked what she saw. Even though she loved Gambit, even though she had just enjoyed sex with them, there was something about seeing Scott like this, his cock a bar of iron, his hand pumping it ruthlessly, that thrilled her almost to the point of orgasm.

"Take it, Rogue, take it!" Scott whispered again.

Her pubic hair was soaking wet now, her pussy itching and flaming. Rogue couldn't help herself. She squeezed her thighs together, hoping that would do something to relieve the pressure she felt. It only mounted more and more.

Scott kept going faster, drawing her attention more. His hand was a heated blur now. Rogue stared. Precum flew from his throbbing erection. Rogue spread her legs open so far that she nudged Remy, but fortunately he didn't wake. It would've been easier if he had, maybe.

She reached down and rubbed between her legs. Instantly, her whole body was trembling with excitement.

"Rogue, you hot little bitch," Scott said softly, his eyes still closed, his sunglasses dark, but his expression full of tightly controlled pleasure.

_He's thinking of me, _Rogue thought. _He's playing with his prick and he fucking wants me!_

Scott fisted his prick with a furious rhythm now. The sight had Rogue so hot that she thought her pussy might catch on fire. She was torn between wanting to be repulsed by this obscenity and wanting to come to the sight of it. She couldn't do either.

Just seeing Scott—her friend, her leader, her teacher—masturbating like this held her under a sort of spell. She kept watching and she kept rubbing her little pussy, like he was making her do it or like they were doing something together.

Scott still beat off wildly. He didn't seem even close to coming. It seemed like he might never come. Rogue heard the wet slurping sound of his hand traveling over his cock, a sound that intrigued her, excited her. She wondered if her mouth would make that sound as he fucked it—her tits—her cunt.

She drove two fingers into her pussy, truly joining him in his debauchery, even if he were miles away. It felt amazing, far better than her self-satisfaction ever had in the past. It was because she wasn't fucking herself, Rogue realized. Scott was fucking her. He was just using her fingers to do it.

Scott's body stiffened. His hand jerked frantically.

"Rogue, Rogue!" he cried.

Then he came. It was like a fire hydrant had been opened. A thick burst of his cum spurted out of his cock, flew high into the air, and splashed down on the floor.

_Oh geez… Oh my Lord… look at that… look at how much…_

She fingered herself faster, but it was pointless. Rogue was pulled along by Scott's orgasm, sucked down into the release of it. Her own body stiffened, her hips jerked forward, and she climaxed. The mad ripple spread through her, clenching every muscle in her fine young body. She felt more than satisfied. She felt _exhausted._

Her eyes gaped at the sight of Scott throttling his gushing cock, his awe-inspiring completion.

"Ah, Rogue—oh shit, Rogue!" he gasped. Her own orgasm felt like it could go on forever. She reveled in the wonderful completeness of it, enthralled by Scott's masturbation, the ejaculation that had been meant for a warm woman but been wasted on the floor. It struck her as nearly tragic.

Scott finally slumped down, spent, his chest heaving, his body covered with sweat. Rogue quickly turned her phone off, the risk of alerting Gambit now flooding in. She set her phone down, then hid it in a drawer of the nightstand like it was some radioactive material she needed to be shielded from.

She was still trembling, still shaking, as she laid down under the covers. Her lust returned quickly, like a flame being rekindled. She was just as aroused as before, only now tormented by the thought that there was a salve for her condition. Because why would Scott have sent that video to her if he didn't want to fuck her? Maybe it was one of Emma's games—an invitation to participate in some depraved sexual festival. But it'd be worth putting up with Frosty to get a night with all that…

She went to sleep thinking of Scott; wondering how many times he'd masturbated to her.

* * *

Soaking a washcloth, Scott rinsed himself off in his office's bathroom, then dressed again. He wetted another washcloth and dropped it onto the droplets of cloudy cum he'd splattered on the floor, mopping it around with his foot. As he did it, he checked the messages on his phone—naturally, he'd not wanted to be interrupted as he returned the favor to Rogue.

He had two voicemails. One from Emma and one from Jean. He played them in order.

"Scott, you know who it is. Before you leave, I'd like you to come see me in the Stepford Cuckoo's dorm. The girls have always looked up to you—something of a father figure, since you're dating me—and I think they want to do something to impress Daddy. Obviously, you don't want to miss that. Do hurry."

Scott clenched his jaw and moved onto the next message before he could think about that first one too hard.

"Hi Scott, it's Jean. I heard you were taking me with you—what makes you think I'm up for a road trip? Just kidding. It'd be nice to get you all to myself for a change. But _first, _could you be a dear and come see Ororo and I in the hangar? You know how it is with airplanes—always show up to the gate an hour early. 'Ro has a parting gift for you and I'd love to see you take it. Get it. Whatever. Unless you're busy. Don't be busy. Hugs and kisses, Slim."

Scott shut off his phone and stooped to finish the mopping up. Emma and the Stepford Cuckoos or Jean and Ororo Munroe? He wouldn't be so craven as to think either of those engagements had a sexual component, or to try to decide where he should go based on that prospect of sex…

But that still left the question: should he get his mission with Jean off to a good start by visiting her, or assuage Emma of his care for her by going to whatever she had planned with her little coven?

It made him glad he'd fucked Betsy so thoroughly that morning. Maybe he'd be lucky enough to get away from the mansion without her putting any demands on his time.


End file.
